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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973892">Vague Space</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting'>aewriting</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Captivity, Human Trafficking, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mentions and threats of nonconsensual sex, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Illness, Sex Work, Sexual Content, Space AU, Species trafficking, Therapy, sedatives, sex shaming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:13:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded on the backwater planet of Quelnin, mechanic Michael Guerin finds himself drawn into a complex species trafficking web at the insistence of his brother-in-law and boss, Noah. When he recognizes one of the beings for sale as his former lover, Alex Manes, the situation gets considerably more complicated... and dangerous.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Guerin/Alex Manes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>215</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Vague Space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as an anonymous tumblr prompt, a request for something “dark and in space.” I couldn’t stop thinking about it, or writing about it. The very beginning of this was previously posted to AO3 as Chapter 11 of “Gimme Shelter” (my collection of tumblr prompts), but has been significantly expanded here. </p><p>This contains some dark subject matter (sex work, threats of nonconsensual sex, captivity, species trafficking, among others), so please mind the tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mike, come on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The answer’s no. Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah looks at him skeptically. “You know how much we could make on just one run?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael slams his wrench down, exasperated. “What fucking part of ‘no’ do you not get?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah scoffs a little. “This is happening, Mike, whether you like it or not. Enos already got us in.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s shaking his head. “How do you think Isobel’s gonna react to this?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah glares at Michael. “Isobel isn’t going to find out about this.” Michael quirks an eyebrow at him, tries not to flinch when Noah leans in. “If you talk about this, then I tell her and Max about you.” Michael’s mouth twitches. “How we really met. Where I really found you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck. Michael closes his eyes. It would kill Isobel and Max. Kill them to find out what he was really doing while they were recovering from Gonchan Flu in Sector 8 all those years ago. “We had a fucking deal, Noah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We need the fucking money, Michael,” Noah hisses. “So unless you’re planning todust off your old tricks and make us some extra cash down by the hangar tonight, you will shut your fucking mouth and let me do this. Understood?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows hard. “When we get back,” he says, his tone measured, “we are done. This is a new low even for you, Noah. If you weren’t my sister’s husband I’d leave you right now, but, for whatever reason, she loves you.” He narrows his eyes. “She’d hate this. You know she would.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Which is why we won’t tell her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head, looks away. “Let’s get this over with.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s the biggest auction house Michael’s ever seen. It, it reminds him of stockyards, back on Earth - loud, too warm, air thick with the stink of sweat. Bodies.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s looking in each stall, perusing the offerings. Michael... Michael can’t. He just can’t. He remembers what it’s like to feel like a thing. Something to be bought and sold. Used.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This planet’s such a shithole. Really, the only reason anyone even comes here is for this, the auction house. Quelnin is just outside of the jurisdiction of the United Federation of Galaxies, so what it lacks in Federation support, it makes up with black market profits.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The auction house gets worse the farther in they get. It’s all plants and trinkets on the perimeter, but the inner stalls are where they keep the sentient beings. It’s so illegal, so completely wrong... and Michael is alarmed to see how at ease Noah appears.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve done this before,” Michael says with sudden realization. “Species trafficking.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah gives him a half-smile. “Your sister likes nice things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael grabs his sleeve. “No. Don’t you fucking do that. Don’t you put this on her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah rounds on him. “You gonna fucking lecture me, Michael? I didn’t see you asking too many questions when I pulled your ass out of Sector 8.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael releases Noah with a shove. “Damn you.” He glances around, uneasy. “Can’t, can’t we just pick up some Grelnars and call it a day?” Noah scoffs. “Seriously, man. They’re trendy now. People are keeping them as fucking pets over in Sector -“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s stopped dead in his tracks. “Mike, are you seeing this?” He mutters, voice low.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael follows his eyeline... and freezes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a human, has to be,” Noah says. “What the fuck is a human doing outside of Federation territory?” His eyes narrow. “He’s young. Must’ve put up a fight, but he looks healthy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s naked. Beat... beat to hell. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s leaning in toward the cage where the human is being kept. “Good muscle tone,” he’s muttering, as if this isn’t a fucking person. “Could probably get a decent price for him on Xanar 12. They always need labor for the mines.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos is nodding. “That’s true. I’d front you the money for transport costs, then you’d get a cut of the final sale profits. Say, ten percent?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You out of your fucking mind? Maybe if Xanar 12 was in Federation airspace, but we’re talking about Sector 6. That’s worth 20% at least...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael, Michael can’t be seeing this. It can’t be him. How the fuck is he here?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now hold on, Noah,” Enos is saying, head cocked. “Picture him cleaned up. Haircut. Shave. He’s not bad-looking, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s head is down, his gaze intentionally averted from the potential buyers around him. Michael approaches the cage, wills to man to look at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s not bad,” Noah’s agreeing. “Let’s see his teeth,” he calls out. Turns to Enos. “If you’re considering selling him to one of the pleasure centers on Velar, we better make sure he still has his teeth. Replacing human teeth isn’t cheap.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t I know it,” Enos mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Open up,” one of the traders is saying to the man. And for a moment, it looks like he’s going to comply. He’s lifting his head, opening his mouth and - </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spitting right at the trader. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” he manages to say before being shocked with an electric prod.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah frowns. “Maybe the mines would be better.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s on the floor of the cage, wheezing, and that’s when Michael sees it. Left shoulder blade. A small letter M. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d been 18. In love. Before it all went to shit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s never been shy about his own tattoo, but he’s never been truthful about it, either. A for Antar, he usually says. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex,” he breathes, and in that moment, the man lifts his head, meets his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael?” he whispers, shocked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods. Straightens. Whirls around to face Noah and Enos.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We‘ll take him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah looks at him, surprised. Suspicious. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We, we need the money, right?”’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah nods a little. “Look at you. Guess I’m rubbing off on you,” he says, with a suggestive wink.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows down his revulsion. He glances at Alex, who is watching him. Very closely. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos is talking in hushed tones to the traders, in a language Michael doesn’t understand. He nods a bit, then walks back toward Noah and Michael.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They don’t know much about him. Tried to get him to talk, with no luck, really. He is human. They got him off of some Slindals.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh,” Noah says, making a face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s apparently pretty aggressive,” Enos says. “Broke Banbar’s nose,” he adds, gesturing to one of the scowling traders in the back. “They agree that he’s not suited for a pleasure center.” Enos looks around, draws even closer to Noah. “The age, the fighting skills, I’d check him, if I were you. Do your,” he waves his hand, “Antarian thing. He could be Federation.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck. If Noah gets in Alex’s mind, he’ll know. Know that this isn’t some random human, not to Michael. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah quirks an eyebrow. “If he has any kind of Federation intelligence, that could be useful. Profitable.” He smiles. “Remember those two idiots we picked up on Velar?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos smiles. “Bought my place on Denbei with those profits.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. How long has Noah been doing this? How many beings has he trafficked, for profit? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll do a full check on him back at the ship, like always,” Noah says. “Some of the newer Federation recruits are chipped now. I’ll let you know what turns up, if anything, then we can decide on a buyer, a flight plan.” He eyes Enos. “Unless...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos is eyeing Alex, licking his lips. “Been a while since I had a human. They’re rare out here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh fuck. “He just broke that guy’s fucking nose,” Michael says, trying to control his voice, his fury, deflect attention off of Alex. Figure, figure out how the fuck he can ditch Noah and get he and Alex out of here, off this planet...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah scoffs. “If we need to, we can drug him up back at the ship.” He glances at Enos. “I’ll let you know if he’s worth your time,” he says, so casually. Winks. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stares.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos smiles. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Noah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Keep bringing me finds like this, and I’ll be coming to Quelnin more often,” Noah says, extending his hand. Enos shakes it. “Now go get him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael is quiet as he watches Enos shout at the traders. He feels eyes on him, and turns to look at Noah.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t ‘what’ me. Get it together.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael is biting the inside of his cheek, torn between wanting to absolutely rip into Noah and playing along to buy himself time. He needs a fucking plan. Anything to delay Noah’s... inspection of Alex, or whatever the fuck he called it. “This is a lot, man.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah snorts a little. “There’s a reason I keep you back at the home base, Mike. You don’t have the stomach for this.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For species trafficking? Rape? No, he sure as hell doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m your partner,” he says instead, low and insistent.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re my mechanic.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m your brother-in-law. I can’t believe you’ve lied about this, all this time.” He makes himself pause, eye Alex in the fucking cage. “You should have brought me in years ago. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. Do what needs to be done.” He swallows, hard. “Like in Sector 8.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah smiles at him, that sick smile he only uses on very rare occasions, usually if he’s had too much to drink or if he thinks Michael isn’t looking. “Trust me, Mike. I’ll never forget our time in Sector 8,” Noah says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael wills himself not to recoil. “l had no idea there was this kind of money to be made. Not to mention the other... advantages.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah gives a surprised little snort. “Well look at you. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into this.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We grew up on Earth, remember? Before the war.” Michael gives Alex a long once-over. “Humans have their charms.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah actually looks a little... impressed, damn him. “Having second thoughts, now? About leaving the fold?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Didn’t realize it was so unregulated out here on Quelnin. And so profitable. Kind of changes things.” Michael smiles. It feels so wrong. “Listen, give me first crack at the human, back at the ship, and I’ll forget all about our disagreement earlier.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah grins. “Damn, Mike.” He chuckles. Looks at Alex. “Humans, right? They’re one of my favorites, too. Look just like us but weaker - you can do whatever you want with them.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael feels absolutely sick. Noah has... clearly done this before, has been doing this for a long time. Has definitely continued doing this while married to his sister. Is, is fucking gloating about it, here, with Michael.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I’d have known,” Noah continues, “I’d have taken you to Velar with me. The humans there... shit. I just didn’t think, with your background...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael forces out a little laugh. “I was a dumb kid. Just needed the money, you know.” Alex is looking right at him. Fuck. Listening to every damn word he’s saying. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah smiles a little. Leans in. “Kind of fun to be on the other side of things, eh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have no idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos is heading back toward them now, rubbing his hands together. “Deal’s done. It was a great price.” He glances back at the traders. “These fools have no idea how much a human is worth on the open market.” He looks at Noah. “I have another appointment. You okay with getting him to the ship?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolutely,” Noah says, confident and self-assured. “My associate and I will get him all checked out, then I’ll contact you tonight so we can figure out pricing and potential buyers.” Noah grins. “Along with any... additional information that might be relevant to your interests.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos chuckles at that. “Yes, well... you know what I like, Noah.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I certainly do,” Noah says. “Talk tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos nods, releases Noah’s hand and stalks away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah sighs, stretches his neck. “Watch carefully, Mike,” he says. “Quelnin’s a goddamn cesspool. I’ve heard stories of people getting their goods stolen off of them while they’re sitting on the goddamn runaway.” He turns to the traders. “Hey, you have anything for him?” he asks, pointing to Alex. “Clothes, shoes?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Banbar, the big guy with the broken nose, rummages in the back and returns with a long brown cloak and cheap-looking sandals. Noah nods to Michael, who reaches for the bundle. Banbar immediately pulls it out of reach.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“20 glott,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seriously?” Michael replies, glancing at Noah, who shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give it to him, Mike. Cost of doing business here on Quelnin.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Damn,” Michael mutters, fishing through the pockets of his coveralls. He finally scrounges together enough and hands it to Banbar, who nods and gives him the clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael breathes in, breathes out. Gets close to the bars of the cage and holds out the bundle. “Here,” he says softly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex doesn’t make a move for the clothes, but he’s definitely looking at Michael with an odd combination of interest and... distrust. “Please,” Michael mouths, trying not to stare at Alex’s naked, well, everything.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael hears Noah’s footsteps approaching. “Put on the fucking clothes, human. Unless you’d rather we drag you naked through the streets.” Noah raises an eyebrow and gives Alex a dispassionate once over. “I don’t give a shit, either way.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s stares at Noah for a long moment before he reaches his hand through the bars and snatches the bundle from Michael. He dresses quickly, efficiently.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah gives him an approving nod. “Excellent. Now, we need to get you out of that cage and back to our ship before Banbar here starts charging rent.” He leans in toward Alex. “You from Earth?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is silent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No matter.” Noah shrugs. “We’ll find out soon enough. And anyway, I’m sure after the war all humans know about Antarians and our abilities. Restraints stay on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s 40 glott,” Banbar pipes up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah closes his eyes, briefly. “You’ll get 35,” he says, and Banbar nods. Noah refocuses on Alex. “You either walk with us to the ship, under your own power, or I get in your head and make you. Your choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re going to get in my head anyway,” Alex says, scowling. “Does the timing really matter?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes fly open, and he tries to subtly shake his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah scoffs a bit. “Wow. Tough guy.” He smiles. “We’ll see how long that lasts. Most humans don’t exactly enjoy the sensation of being forced, like that.” He draws closer to Alex. “But if you do, well... I’m sure we can find some very specific buyers for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is quiet for a long moment. Looks at Michael, then Noah. “I’ll walk.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Do you want to know where it stands right now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Noah lets Michael have some alone time with the new purchase back on the ship.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please mind the tags.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They reach the ship without incident. Alex doesn’t look at Michael, doesn’t say two words the whole way there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You, you in his head?” he asks Noah, nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah shakes his head. “No. Guess he has some small measure of sense.” Puts his hand on the back of Alex’s neck. “Knows he’s no match for two Antarians.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sees Alex tense, but he says nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once inside the ship, Noah directs them to the cargo bay. Michael had wondered, before, at the restraints lining the hold. Noah had always said he’d bought the ship off of a penal colony. Michael, in his extensive renovations of the ship, had offered to remove them many a time, but Noah had always refused. “Just in case,” he’d said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get him secured, Mike,” Noah orders, and Michael complies quickly, trying to convey to Alex, with his eyes, just how sorry he is. He tries to touch Alex as little as possible as he raises his wrists over his head, secures them in the restraints. Alex just stares at him, silently. It’s unnerving.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah is watching Michael carefully. Claps him on the back, approvingly, when he’s done. Grins. “I’m gonna head up to the cockpit, start putting out some feelers about potential buyers.” He steps closer toMichael. “You did a good job today. Keep this up, and I have a feeling there are plenty more of these opportunities in your future.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He draws even nearer, then, and speaks softly, right in Michael’s ear. “Honestly, it’s good to have someone in the family involved in this. This business - it’s brutal. Cutthroat. Can’t trust anyone, not really. And you know your sister,” he smiles sheepishly. “It’ll be good to have you running interference, too.” His brow furrows. “She doesn’t know how the world works, really works. But you do, Mike. You do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks over his shoulder at Alex, turns back to Michael. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned this,” he says, smirking. He presses a small box into Michael’s hand. “Sedative. Inject it anywhere, if you need it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks down, gathers himself. When he looks up again, he’s smiling. “I owe you one, man.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure do,” Noah says. He claps Michael on the shoulder once more, a little too hard. “Have fun, Mike. Come get me when you’re done.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael watches Noah go. Knows where the cameras are in the hold - he installed them, after all. He uses his powers to turn them so he and Alex are just out of sight, and, for good measure, waits an extra minute or two before setting the sedative box on the ground and turning to face Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is staring at him, an inscrutable look on his face. “First crack, eh?” he finally says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex,” Michael says, closing the distance between them. Alex flattens himself against the wall. It’s a subtle movement, but it’s enough to freeze Michael in his tracks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex,” he repeats, keeping his distance. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex eyes him warily. Bites his lip a little. “Always wondered,” he says, finally. “What happened to you.” He looks away, shakes his head a little. “Could have given me a hundred guesses, and I never would have predicted this. Nothing even close.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wait. Did Alex... did he think Michael was actually in on this?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you going to do to me?” Alex asks him, voice surprisingly steady.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with that, Michael reaches out with his powers, unlocks the restraints.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks genuinely surprised, his eyes flicking to Michael with uncertainty. He slowly lowers his arms from their position above his head, rubs at his bare, bruised wrists. No one says anything for a long moment, until Alex finally sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright then,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to his throat and unfastens the cloak, lets it fall open. “How do you want me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “No!” he’s saying, shaking his head. “Alex, no, that’s not what this is!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex just shakes his head. “I’m not, not going to fight you on this. I heard your boss, and I know...” he swallows, hard. “Of course I know what you are. Know you can make me do whatever you want anyway.” He advances toward Michael, who backs up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex, I need you to listen to me,” Michael pleads, running a hand nervously through his hair. “I’m here to get you out!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that, Alex freezes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael affirms, nodding wildly. “This whole thing is so fucked right now. My boss, Noah, he’s my brother-in-law.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex chews his lip a bit, looks thoughtful. “Wait, so him and, and Isobel?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods, grateful. “Yeah, you remembered, yeah,” he says. “I, I’ve been working for him for years now, as a mechanic.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “I heard him say that, but...” he trails off. “You’re a mechanic?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s mouth twists a bit. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is staring at him. “Guess I just always, always pictured things going differently, for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sighs. “Yeah, well, after your planet decided to make us enemy number one, I didn’t exactly have a lot of choices.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex swallows hard. “You must hate humans,” he murmurs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s shoulders slump. “I don’t, don’t hate humans, Alex. Sure don’t hate you,” he adds, quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks down. Bends down slowly and picks up the cloak. Looks to Michael for... permission?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sick feeling is back, and Michael just nods at Alex, who immediately covers back up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, if you don’t want this right now,” Alex says after a long moment, gesturing to his now-clothed body, “then you lied to your boss.” Alex purses his lips, moves closer. “So what do you want?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Want to get us out of here,” Michael says. “Me and you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahhh,” Alex says, a bit wryly. And it’s then that Michael sees that the sedative box is just underneath Alex’s cloak, sees that he’s been steadily moving toward it this entire time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex doesn’t trust him, clearly, and he has no idea how to convince him otherwise. Unless... “I still have it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex pauses. Frowns. “Have what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael backs up a little, out of stabbing range, should Alex pick up the sedative. He holds up a hand, uses the other to shakily start unzipping his coveralls.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is frowning. “What are you - ?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The tattoo,” Michael interrupts, yanking down his coveralls and turning around to expose the upper part of his back. “All these years, I kept it.” He turns back around and sees that Alex has stopped moving toward him, is frozen in place. “A for Alex,” Michael says, quietly. “And you still have yours.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“M for Michael,” Alex murmurs. They’re quiet for awhile, just staring at each other. Finally, Alex smiles, just a little. “We... we were so young. And so dumb,” he says, and, and Michael is relieved to hear the fondness there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, so dumb,” he repeats. “There’s no way that guy was licensed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He never even checked our IDs,” Alex recalls, laughing a little. It dies away, and he looks at Michael, really looks. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s really going on here, Michael? What, what happened to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he looks so earnest in that moment, so concerned, that Michael tells him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Do you really care what, when, why, or how?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael tells Alex how he got mixed up with Noah.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael tells Alex everything.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tells him about his desperate escape from Earth with Isobel and Max, hours after the Antarian attack. Apologizes, the way he’s wanted to for years, for leaving without a single word to Alex. Tells him about how hard it was, after - with no money, no resources, and no real knowledge of Antarian culture. They’d been refugees, after all, from the civil war - living on Earth, among humans, there had been no pressing need to learn about their powers, their abilities. No opportunity, either.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael knows what a mistake that was, now, how vulnerable that made them. And that wasn’t their only vulnerability. Growing up on Earth, they’d never really gotten the proper medical care - the right shots, immunizations. They’d been sick all the time, at first, after they left, but never worse than when they’d found themselves in Sector 8.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All it takes is hearing the words “Sector 8,” and Alex whistles, low in his throat. “Shit,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael mutters. “We all got Gonchan Flu. I recovered pretty quickly from it, don’t know why, but Isobel and Max...” he trails off. “It was so bad, Alex. And Sector 8 was the cheapest place I could find for us to just kind of lay low for a while. It was months that they were sick, and there was no money for food, rent, medicine... I did anything I could think of for extra cash. That’s where I started doing repair work, I was selling my own blood as often as I could, and finally, I, uh...” He looks down. “Signed a contract. With one of the pleasure centers there.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks genuinely stricken. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re sitting next to each other against the wall of the hold now, nearly hip to hip. Michael knows that Alex is still concealing the sedative in his cloak, but he’s made no move to use it, so Michael’s let it be. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. “It,” he swallows, “it was bad.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long?” Alex asks, voice tight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Almost three months,” Michael says. “Isobel and Max never knew, still don’t know. They were so out of it, most of the time...” Michael clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s where Noah found me. I’d actually, uh, fixed his ship for him that morning, and that night, well...” he trails off. “I think that he thought it was kind of funny, actually, like the coincidence of it. Plus I was Antarian, too. We... we bargained.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stretches his neck a bit. “And he, he kept up his end of the deal. He saved us. Like, he really did. Bought out my contract, got us all out of Sector 8 and connected us with the right medical care, shots and stuff. Max and Isobel completely recovered. Gave us all jobs, working for him.” Michael sighs. “He took a shine to Isobel. And to this day, I don’t know if she married him because she actually loves him or, or... or if she thinks she owes him. He’s based out of Torno, that’s where I usually am, doing mechanic work on his shipping fleet. Just dumb luck that I’m here on Quelnin with him right now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to look at Alex, then. “I had no idea he was into species trafficking. And, and that’s on me, because I probably should have looked into things more. There’ve always, always been things that didn’t add up, with Noah.” He shakes his head. “I really didn’t know, Alex, and I’m sick about it. You have to believe me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stares at him. “I want to believe you, Michael,” he says, slowly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael bites his lip a bit. “I could prove it to you, you know,” he says. “Show you anything you want, about me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not sure how much you know about Antarians,” Michael says. “I know they didn’t teach us much back on Earth, and half of what they said wasn’t even accurate. But, um, we can do this thing, all of us can, where we can use our handprints to open up a, a connection. We can show people our memories, like directly.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “Is it like, a two way connection?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Michael assures him, quickly. “I’ve never done it before though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then, um, I’d rather not be your first.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen, a little, then Alex’s do too, when he apparently realizes the double entendre. “That’s, um, that’s fair,” Michael says quickly. Pointedly trying not to think about another first time, light years away, with this man. Not even a man, then. Just kids., both of them. They’d camped out in the desert, undressed under the stars...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks thoughtful. “What about just, like, getting in my head? I’ve heard that Antarians can do that without even touching you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes off his memories of teenage Alex, refocuses on real Alex, right in front of him. “Some can,” he says. “Noah definitely can. Isobel can. I bet I could if I trained. Practiced. But as it stands, I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at him, and for a moment, he looks almost... shy? “Can you still...?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael grins, and gestures toward one of the big cargo boxes in the hold. It floats toward them. Michael steals a glance at Alex, and is delighted to see a small smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure can,” he murmurs. He sets the box down gently. “Not... not everything’s changed.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Alex’s smile turns sad. “No. Just most things.” Alex looks down. “I’m sorry all that happened to you,” he says, finally. “I wish, wish there’d never been the attack, on Earth. I feel like so much would have been different.” He edges his hand toward Michael, allows their knuckles to brush, just a little. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael inhales, sharply, and Alex withdraws his hand. Runs it through his hair. “So,” he says quickly. “What’s your plan? I, I feel like your brother-in-law could come back any minute.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael mutters, glancing at the entrance to the hold. “Yeah. There’s the sedative. Under your cloak,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes widen. “You knew?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you just let me have it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shrugs. “I’m not the one who just got, got...” he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Thought maybe I’d knock him out, with the sedative. Like surprise him. Maybe just leave him here on Quelnin? I don’t know. Then I’d just need to wait for Enos to clear us for transport and wire us the money for fuel and supplies, then we can leave this shithole. I... I don’t know where we’d go from there,” he says. “And I’m gonna have to call Isobel at some point,” he says, frowning. “Biggest thing, though, is that we’re gonna need to somehow find a pilot. Within, like, hours. And I have no fucking idea how that’s - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can fly.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael blinks. “Wait, what?” He shakes his head. “Since when?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “My dad was Space Force - you remember, right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael scoffs. “Oh I remember. I tend not to forget assholes who threaten me with vivisection.” Alex is just staring at him. “Shit, you’re not... not close now, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives a wry little chuckle. “No. He died. In the war.” He looks at Michael with a grim expression. “Asshole to the very end.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d expect nothing less,” Michael mutters. “But, go back to the whole pilot thing.” He freezes, looks Alex over. “Wait, Wait a second. You’re not Federation, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex barks out a laugh. “Do I look Federation to you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael takes in the longish hair, the stubble. “You sure don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex smirks. “Dad made us all take flying lessons. I’m decent. Like, I couldn’t fly a big Federation-style vessel, but little craft like this?” Alex nods. “I can do it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael allows himself a smile, a small one. “Then I think we might have a chance.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Before we can change we could levitate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael and Alex attempt to trap Noah and leave Quelnin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s easier than Michael expects, getting the jump on Noah. At Alex’s insistence, Michael restrains him again, against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t like this,” Michael mutters as he shuts the restraints. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Has to look convincing. He, he needs to be distracted while you take him out. He should be close to me, but not... not <em>too</em> close. Don’t want to get me with the sedative by mistake.” He swallows. “Take the cloak off,” he tells Michael.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure?” Michael asks, really not wanting Noah’s eyes on Alex again, like this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. I think you know as well as I do that if he gets in my head, he’s gonna see shit we don’t want him to see. So if I’m... you know,” he says, shrugging, “I’m thinking maybe it’ll distract him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Michael mutters. “You’re probably right. God,” he says, shaking his head as he removes the cloak, “he’s such a piece of shit.” He tosses the cloak behind him, takes a deep breath. “I won’t let him hurt you, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex nods.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Michael waits, crouched behind boxes of dehydrated korito and shelf-stable linegad. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mike?” comes the call before too long. “Mike?” louder, now. Michael grasps the syringe in his hand, holds his breath as Noah walks past. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He peeks around the boxes, and there’s Noah, stopped right in front of Alex. He’s looking him up and down. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is staring at the floor, not meeting Noah’s eyes. Without warning, Noah grabs Alex under the jaw, puts a hand on his forehead and pushes his head back against the wall. The pressure forces Alex’s mouth open as he tries to shout. It comes out garbled, and Noah smiles. Releases Alex and steps back a few paces.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” he says, a self-satisfied smirk firmly in place. “You <em>do</em> still have all your teeth.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Son of a bitch.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael lets the syringe fly through the air, guides it with his powers, aiming it right for Noah’s neck. It’s harder to control as it gets closer, and Michael really has to focus as he sinks the needle in and depresses the plunger.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s eyes are wide as he scrambles for the syringe, then, realizing the futility, he reaches out with his powers, toppling boxes before falling over, unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” Michael breathes. He immediately unlocks Alex’s restraints with his powers. “You okay?” he calls.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is already crouching down next to Noah, feeling for his pulse and lifting his blaster off of him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, distracted. “How long does this sedative last, on Antarians?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, I have no idea,” Michael says, frowning. “I don’t plan to have him here long, though. Should we just take him out of the ship now? Leave him here at the hangar in a crate or something?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s dark eyes are angry, flashing. “We’re not leaving him. We leave him here, and he runs right back to Enos and keeps doing the same shit he’s been doing. Plus he comes after you!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Michael asks. “He, he can’t stay here!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches, incredulous, as Alex hoists Noah’s body, presses him up against the wall, under the same restraints that had held Alex just minutes ago. “Can you...?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head but does as he’s asked, crosses to Alex and helps support Noah’s weight as he secures his wrists in the restraints. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know these won’t hold him, right?” Michael says nervously. “Like, if he wakes up and his powers are at full throttle, we’re fucked.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s jaw tightens. “We’re not leaving him here to just, just get away with this. He must have more sedative somewhere. We’ll, we’ll just keep dosing him. Till we get... wherever we’re going, right? I mean, once we hit Federation airspace, we can -“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Federation airspace?” Michael repeats, incredulous. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but this craft isn’t exactly Federation friendly.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex scoffs. “I have a feeling the Federation will overlook that if we hand them a gift-wrapped species trafficker.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” Michael mutters. “You sound pretty fucking confident about that.” He narrows his eyes. “Must be nice to be a human.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure,” Alex says tightly, “when you’re not up against an Antarian psychopath.” He clocks Michael’s hurt look, sighs. “Look, we need to move fast, find some more sedative, make sure Enos has cleared us for take off.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Enos, fuck!” Michael exclaims, making a face. “He... I think he wanted a go with you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex snorts a little. “Yeah he did, the fucker.” He shakes his head. “Can you go to the cockpit? Check on all that? I’ll stand guard here, poke around the hold to see if there’s anything else we can use to secure Noah.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at Alex for a long moment. He... he still doesn’t know Alex, not really, not this grown-up, hardened version of the boy he fell in love with all those years ago. He wants to trust him. He wants to. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he says, and makes his way to the cockpit.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s easy enough to access the flight plan, see that it’s been approved. Harder to find Noah’s account information, but Michael manages. It’s clear that Noah hadn’t shut anything down before making his way to the hold, hadn’t expected to be completely betrayed. They’re approved for takeoff, but there’s no recent transfer of funds. Michael takes a deep breath, steels himself, and finds Enos’s contact information. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s seconds before Enos’s face appears. He frowns. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Enos!” Michael says, keeping his tone light. “Glad I reached you. Noah wanted me to give you a call.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, he was going to update me on the newest acquisition.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael forces himself to remain calm. Casual. “Yes, of course. Unfortunately, the human is very aggressive. Suffered some... damage, during the inspection.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s unfortunate,” Enos says. “I guess Velar is out,” he sighs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods sympathetically. “We’ve discussed it, and Xanar seems like the better fit at this point.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos shrugs a bit. “Fair enough.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re hoping to leave here as soon as possible,” Michael says. “Repairs are finally finished, and Noah is anxious to get back to Torno.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos smiles, a leering thing. “I would be, too, if I had that Antarian blonde waiting for me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows. Breathes. Smiles. “Yes, well, he’s requested the transfer of funds as soon as possible, for fuel and transit costs. I have his account pulled up now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos frowns again. “Where is Noah? I was hoping to speak with him about his return plans.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael smiles apologetically. “He’s still dealing with the new purchase. Feels that a firm hand is needed.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos nods in understanding. “Humans,” he murmurs. “That one looked like trouble from the start. I hope you’ve sedated him?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yes,” Michael says. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos nods, pleased. Looks down. He’s obviously looking at a device. “Alright...” he mumbles. “Just give me a second and...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael hears a ‘’ping” coming from the monitor. He leans in.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The transfer should be finalized.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael purses his lips, registers the, frankly, enormous deposit that’s just come through. He wills his face to remain neutral. “I see it here. Thank you, Enos. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Enos smiles.“The pleasure was all mine. Contact me when you’re getting close to Xanar. And Mike? I hope you and Noah don’t wait too long to return to Quelnin. I know that there are many choices here, and I appreciate that you have chosen to do business with me,” he says blandly, as if reciting a script. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael musters up one last smile. “Noah is very grateful.” He raises a hand, tries to remember how Noah has been ending conversations here on Quelnin. “Until we meet again.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Until we meet again,” Enos replies, and the connection ends.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. He quickly looks up the sedative they used on Noah, checks the dosing instructions. “Thank god,” he mutters, and goes to find Alex. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he finds him, Alex is propped up against a box, wrapped back up in the brown cloak, blaster trained on Noah’s limp form. “We good?” he asks tightly, barely looking at Michael.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re good,” Michael says. “The money’s already posted to the account, and we are cleared to depart Quelnin airspace. We can leave anytime.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The tension in Alex’s shoulders eases slightly. “Good.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. And another thing,” Michael adds. “I checked on the sedative. We should be good for at least four hours.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives him a little half-smile, maybe even relaxes his grip on the blaster a little. “Good, good, that’s... really good news. Buys us some time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael blows out a breath. “I still don’t like it. Him on the ship with us. You sure we couldn’t, like, take off? Just the two of us? Head to Shelbar, get some identity cloaking, then go... wherever?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s half joking. Half.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip. Maybe... maybe even considers it for a second. “Where would you go?” he asks, voice low, as if the words have escaped without him knowing it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You, you remember that time we went to California?” Michael asks. “Just for the weekend - we pooled our money and took that shuttle?” He frowns. “Dammit, what was the name of that place?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is staring at him, an intense expression on his face. “La Jolla,” he finally says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, I liked that,” Michael continues. “The ocean, the tacos.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You couldn’t swim for shit, and there was such good snorkeling there,” Alex mutters. There’s a fondness in his voice, but it dies away quickly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know I can never go back there,” Michael says softly. “La Jolla. California. Earth. Like, not anymore, not after the damn war.” Michael shrugs. “But, but somewhere like that would be nice.” He swallows. “If I could go anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">With you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is so quiet, still just staring at Michael. “We can’t,” he finally says. His voice is raspy. He clears his throat, tries again. “We can’t, can’t just leave Noah here. He’s done too much,” he says, nodding Noah’s way.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” Michael sighs, resigned. “You’re braver than me,” he adds.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex hears him, seems to soften. “I don’t think it’s that, Michael. Not <em>just</em> that.” He fixes Michael with a strange look. “What does he threaten you with? Like, what is it that he holds over your head? Guy like that, I’m sure there’s something.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sucks in a breath. “Sector 8,” he finally says. “I, I step out of line, and he says he’ll tell Max and Isobel the truth about it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex nods. “Figured it was something like that. I bet he has shit on Max and Isobel, too, says the same kind of stuff to them. Bet he does that with everyone that works for him, honestly.” Alex looks at Noah disdainfully. “But, thing is, you’ve seen behind the curtain now. And I don’t know about Max and Isobel, but there’s nothing you’ve done that could possibly be worse than the shit he’s involved in. <em>Nothing</em>,” Alex says emphatically. “Scared 18 year old on Sector 8, of all the goddamn places? You were just trying to survive. Help your brother and sister survive. No shame in that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael just stares at Alex. Searches his face for some sign of disgust. Disapproval. And, and it’s... not there. Michael looks quickly down at his feet. “Why don’t we head up to the cockpit?” he ask quietly. “You can chart a course for Torno, and we can get the fuck out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gladly,” says Alex. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The formless matters of the brain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael and Alex try to agree on a course of action.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s still attracted to Alex, Michael thinks helplessly as he watches Alex expertly manipulate the ship’s controls. He’s wearing an extra pair of Michael’s coveralls, sleeves pushed up, and Michael can’t stop looking at his hands, his forearms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been... a while, since he’s felt this way about someone. There’ve been times he wondered if he still could. Feel. Like this. Usually just tries not to think about it. Easier, easier to just work around the clock, focus on engines and fuselages, rather than all the shit in his fucked up head. And god knows there was always work to be done at the hangar. Michael’s always taken a certain pride in knowing that he’s the best mechanic on Torno. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s not like he’s been a monk. He’ll, he’ll go out sometimes, like with Isobel. Max. He’ll even go home with someone if he’s had enough Zilthin grog...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s fine.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s fine.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s never been like it was though. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Like before Sector 8. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Like with Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at Alex again, grown-up Alex with his broad shoulders and...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Good muscle tone</em>, he remembers Noah saying, back in the auction house, while he looked Alex over like, like a goddamn thing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>That one, with the hair</em>, he remembers Noah saying, back on Sector 8, while he looked at Michael the same way.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pushes back from the console. “I should go look for more sedative,” he says to Alex. “You good here?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex nods. “We’ll be on autopilot for a while, yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael walks away quickly, proceeds to tear the goddamn ship apart. Noah’s quarters, the storage areas, the hidden compartments Michael had installed, even the fridge in the kitchen - there’s no sedative. He feels the panic rising as he spends more time searching, finally takes a break, goes back to find Alex...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Who’s looking remarkably at ease, actually, posture relaxed, just staring up at the star chart.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael clears his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Alex says, voice bright, but his face falls when he actually sees Michael. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t find any more sedative. I have no idea where he’s hidden it, or if there’s even any here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks thoughtful. “Did you try the fridge? Some sedatives have to be kept at specific temperatures.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns, at that. Looks at Alex, carefully. “I did, actually.” He slides into the co-pilot chair, reaches out subtly with his mind. He can’t, can’t access the mindscape, like Isobel and Noah. Can’t see into other people’s minds, influence them or control them. But with a little focus, he can sometimes pick up on other people’s moods. Motivations. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s getting nothing from Alex. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Absolutely nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. Is he that out of practice?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex seems nonplussed. “Well, if there’s no more sedative, we’ll have to come up with a plan B.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Plan B...” Michael murmurs. “What do you suggest?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “Let me think about it. We have a few hours yet, right? Before the sedative wears off?” He snorts a little. “Hell, after what he’s done? Wouldn’t mind just giving him a good crack on the head, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives a little nod, glances at the console. For all he knows about how these ships work, he doesn’t know jack shit about actually flying them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s kind of amazing that Alex does.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Convenient, too.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He eyes Alex, still looking like, like a goddamn dream, all dark eyes and hair...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” Michael says casually. “How the fuck did you end up in the Quelnin market?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex reclines in his seat, lets his head fall back. Gives a long exhale. “Ship trouble. In the wrong part of the galaxy,” he mutters. “Slindal airspace.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head. “That’s some really bad luck right there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex says, glancing at the console. Michael waits for him to say more, but nothing’s forthcoming.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns. “What were you even doing there, outside Federation airspace? Like, it’s risky enough for an Antarian, but a human?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that was part of the trouble, with the ship. Something had gone wrong with the instruments, apparently.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” Michael says. “If I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that the Slindals hadn’t already sold your ship to the highest bidder, I’d offer to fix it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex cocks his head. “You do the instrumentation stuff, too? Like console repairs? Not just the mechanical stuff?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure,” Michael shrugs. “Kinda, kinda just comes naturally to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Those are two totally different skill sets, Michael.” Alex looks thoughtful. “You were always so smart, back in school,” he muses. “Remember how mad Liz would get at you, with the bio stuff?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god,” Michael says, actually laughing a little. “Liz! Liz Ortecho! Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “What is she up to these days?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex purses his lips. “Last I heard, she was doing biomedical research over on Medela. Doing well for herself.” He grins, quickly. “Workaholic, but what’s new there?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. He sighs then, feels a dark mood settling over him. “I’m glad she made it, after everything,” he says quietly. “Glad you did, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex drops his head a little.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I heard, heard that it was bad. On Earth. Lot of people died. I hate that it was Antarians that did it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Alex says sharply, meeting Michael’s eyes. “Anyone that really, really knows about what happened knows that not all Antarians are to blame.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael scoffs. “Yeah, tell that to people like your dad.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shakes his head. “People like my dad,” he says slowly, “would have hated Antarians regardless. Hell, he hated Antarians long before the attack, when all he’d ever seen of you were a bunch of kids, old people, and political refugees,” Alex says, sounding genuinely bitter.“If not Antarians, people like my dad, they’d have picked someone else to hate. Someone different from them. That’s just what they do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what do you think, Alex?” Michael asks, a little dangerously. “Antarians attacked your planet. Killed your dad. Bought you like, like you were a fuckin’ toy...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t hate Antarians,” Alex says quickly. Glances at Michael. “Sure don’t hate you,” he says, echoing Michael’s words from earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the words, they warm something in Michael that maybe... maybe he’d forgotten was there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is still looking at him. “Michael,” he says, and he sounds so serious. “Did you <em>really</em> not know? About Noah?” He swallows thickly. “Like, if you did know, I... I get it. He pulled you out of, of <em>hell</em>, then held it over your head. Had a lot of control over you and your family. Like, he’s a bad dude.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael blows out a breath, faces Alex. “I really didn’t know,” He says grimly. “Not about the trafficking. Like, I knew that there was some, some shadiness going on, you know?” He glances around the cockpit. “Like, the modifications I’ve made to Noah’s fleet of shipping vessels?” He shakes his head. “Definitely not legal. And I knew that there was... enhanced security on some of his shipments. Like, I’ve definitely seen him move Zilthin grog before, plenty of it, but...” Michael bites his lip. “He, he does a lot of legitimate stuff too, you know? Like, totally aboveboard contracts with Velar for different supplies.” He pauses. “Velar, god,” he mutters, “knowing what I know now, I’m sure he’s bringing sentient beings to Velar, too. Along with all the food and shit. Damn it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re silent for a while. “I’m glad I know now,” Michael finally says. “I mean, I wish Noah wasn’t such a fucking scumbag, that he didn’t do all those things. But, like, at least I know now, right?” He looks down. “God, I’m not looking forward to talking to Isobel when we get back to Torno.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think she knew?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head. “I have no idea. If she <em>did</em> know, I’m sure he was probably blackmailing her, like you said. Fuck, or even... even messing with her mind, my mind. We never got the right training growing up, that other Antarians got. And we asked Noah about it, more than once, but nothing ever came of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sounds like he made sure you all were under his thumb.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael bites his lip a little. “To be honest,” he starts, “it wasn’t hard, with me. I was pretty fucked up, after Sector 8. Just wanted to... to kind of disappear, after that. So I did. Into work, mostly. Didn’t, didn’t really want to leave Torno. It’s the safest I’d felt since...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Since you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael clears his throat. “I’m sure if I’d been doing shipping runs, or even just been a little more plugged into, like, my life, I would have noticed something.” He shrugs, too casual. “Fuckin’ dumb. I see that now.” He shakes his head. “And god knows the kind of shit he’s been pulling with Isobel and Max.” He looks at Alex. “I want him gone.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex raises an eyebrow. “I can help make that happen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that moment, a tone sounds, not loud, but insistent. Alex quickly leans forward, glances at the console, and presses a button. The alarm stops.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that?” Michael asks, frowning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “Proximity alert.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For what? I don’t see a thing.” Michael looks at the star map. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looks again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Fuck</em>, Alex!” he cries, whirling to face him. “Where the fuck are we?” He stands, leans closer to the star map, as if that will change what he’s seeing. “You, you need to turn us around, now. This is saying we’re, like, two minutes from Federation airspace.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Less than that, actually,” Alex mutters, gazing up at the screen.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks frantically between the star map and Alex. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex... Alex looks like he’s fucking counting down.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He <em>is</em> counting down.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“3...2...1, there we go,” he mutters under his breath. Swivels in his chair to face Michael. Stands up, hand on the blaster at his hip.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Under the authority of Statute 114.91 of the United Federation of Galaxies’ Code of Interplanetary Travel, I am hereby commandeering this craft for official Federation use.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The honest way you move is too much</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael finds out more about Alex’s past... and his plans for Michael.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the <em>fuck</em>, Alex?” Michael hisses, eyes darting from Alex’s face to the blaster to the star map. “You lied to my fucking face! Said you weren’t Federation!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex cocks his head a bit. “Never said that.” Shrugs, a little. “Implied it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael glares at him. “Well isn’t this just a day of fucking reveals?” He shakes his head. “What’re you gonna do now, arrest me? Species trafficking, illegal modifications, aiding and abetting a - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Michael</em>,” Alex interrupts sternly. Michael watches, wide-eyed, as Alex grips the blaster, begins to bring it up...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael reaches out with his powers to stop him from moving his arm -</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And nothing happens.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex continues to bring the blaster up in one smooth motion, places it on the console between them, pointing away from Michael. Raises his empty hands, as if surrendering.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you do that?” Michael asks, voice low.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just now, I... my powers, I tried to stop you from, from shooting me - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s face falls. “I wasn’t going to shoot you - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that now, but, my powers, they didn’t work.” He presses back into his seat, fear growing. “What are you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex exhales, keeps his hands in the air. “Federation Intelligence. Anti-trafficking task force.” He swallows, hard. “I specialize in Antarian affairs. And you were right, earlier. I should be arresting you. Calling this in to headquarters immediately.” He sighs. “But it’s you, Michael, and we’ve got,” he glances at the console, “two hours before Noah starts coming to.” He sighs wearily. “So let’s figure out how the fuck we’re going to play this.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives a wry little laugh. “<em>We</em>? Come on, Alex, fuck. Why even pretend, here? You’re gonna tell me what to do, and I’m gonna do it. You’re Federation. You’re the only one who can fly this ship. My powers aren’t working on you. It’s not like I have a goddamn choice right now. Not like I’ve really had a goddamn choice since I left the fucking Earth.” He shakes his head, so bitter. “So,” he says meanly, knowing just how to hurt, “how do you want me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks like he’s been slapped, sits down heavily in the captain’s chair. “Michael,” he says, and there’s something in his voice. Something desperate. “Michael. I’m sorry I had to lie to you. Too many people have done that to you, it sounds like. No, no more lies, okay?” Michael’s looking at him skeptically. “I’m serious. No lies from me, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stares at him silently from the co-pilot chair. “How the fuck are you Federation?” he finally says. “Seriously, you swore you were never going to join up, said you’d never be like your dad. What... what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sighs. Looks... looks so sad that Michael almost regrets asking. “After the attack,” Alex begins, “there was just, like, panic. It was good that you got out when you did. Antarians were getting shot in the street. There was a draft,” he says. “I, I didn’t really have a choice, either. Within hours of them announcing it, dad dragged me to his Space Force base and... and told them everything. About me. And you.” Alex looks at Michael sharply. “You remember what Kyle and his friends used to call me? In school? After you and I got together?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alien fucker,” Michael mutters. Eyes Alex. “You remember what Valenti used to call me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s mouth twitches. He looks pained. “Alien whore,” he finally says, reluctantly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yup,” Michael says wryly. “And we all thought DeLuca was the psychic.” He takes a moment, looks back at Alex. “What did they do to you, at Space Force, when they heard that you’d been involved with an Antarian?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it wasn’t just Space Force there that day. I think... think things would have gone differently if it had been. Like I said, the humans on Earth were going nuts about anything even remotely Antarian. I remember thinking Space Force was gonna, like, detain me. Honestly, I think that’s what my dad was hoping they’d do. But there was a Federation Officer there, sent to oversee things. Try, try to manage the response, calm everything down.” He looks down. “She was there, when my dad tried to sell me out, and to her, me knowing an Antarian, an Antarian refugee, specifically? Like, that was a good thing. There were relatively few people on Earth who’d ever even seen an Antarian, let alone, like, interacted with one closely. Made me valuable, to the Federation. An asset.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bet your dad hated that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex scoffs. “Oh my god. There were already so many turf wars between Space Force and the Federation - he hated that they were involved.” He looks at Michael. “That was the last I ever saw him, you know? In that shitty Space Force office.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s how I got involved with the Federation. It’s what I’ve been doing ever since.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So do you, like, target Antarians, specifically?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “It’s, it’s not like that. I mean, sometimes it’s like that. Like I said, I’m Federation Intelligence, with a focus on species trafficking, and my division gets called in if the victim or the perp is Antarian. Antarians were almost completely insulated until the Antar Civil War - it’s not like we know much about your abilities, your culture. A few of the refugees that were on Earth survived, agreed to help us out, but, understandably, there’s a lot of distrust and a lot we still don’t know.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leans in. “This investigation into Noah,” he says, “started over two years ago. We’d heard rumors about a species trafficking ring specializing in sentient beings, especially humans. We’d gotten leads on Velar, and some of the strategies that were being used - mind manipulation, telekinesis... well, that’s when we figured an Antarian was involved. I haven’t been undercover all that long, though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re good at it,” Michael says after a beat. “The whole undercover thing. Sure had me fooled.” He eyes Alex’s bruised face. “You certainly go all in.” He purses his lips. “Would you have fucked me? Down in the hold, earlier?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s mouth twists a bit. “I... I would have used all the tools at my disposal to meet my mission objectives.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head a bit. “Well, shit.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was going to try to stab you with the syringe, if you didn’t back down. Same as I would have tried to do with Noah. Or Enos.” Alex looks down. “But... but I really, really hoped you weren’t that far gone. Don’t think I could’ve taken that, honestly, if you’d, like, actually tried to...” his voice trails off, and there’s a tense silence between them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I loved you, Michael,” Alex finally says, out of the fucking blue, looking so damn serious. If he’s... if he’s lying about this, too, then Michael doesn’t even want to know.“In my 18-year-old way, I loved you. And, and I think you loved me, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck. “Yeah,” Michael forces out. Exhales. Swallows down the hurt and the pain, the thought that things could have been just so, so different between them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s an alternate dimension out there, Michael thinks, where they’re happy. Together.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it’s not here. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you want, Alex?” Alex opens his mouth, ready to respond. “With Noah?” Michael specifies.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shuts his mouth abruptly. Purses his lips. “I want to bring Noah in. I want to see him stand trial for his crimes, want to see him locked up where he can’t hurt anyone else.” He eyes Michael. “And I’d really like it if you helped me do that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael barks out a laugh. “Or what? Let me guess, I go to a Federation prison?Fuck...” He looks at the blaster on the table. It twitches. So... whatever’s blocking his powers, it’s specific to Alex. Alex’s body, Alex’s mind.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sees Alex looking at him, watching as Michael uses his powers to subtly spin the blaster around and around. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This whole thing...” Michael reflects, still fidgeting with the blaster. “It hurts more that it’s you, you know?” He sighs. “Hurt to see you in the auction house, like that, hurt to hear them talk about you the way they did, hurt to know that you were in danger. And it hurts to know you lied to me, that you’re Federation.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stops messing with the blaster, drops his head. “How’d you know it would be me, here, with Noah? That I’d actually help you after all these years? I didn’t even know I was going to Quelnin till right beforehand. Goddard was sick, and Noah said he needed a mechanic to come with him...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Michael,” Alex says quickly, brow furrowed. “You, you had nothing to do with me being here, with this mission. There was nothing about you or your brother or sister in our files - till Noah walked up to my damn cage I didn’t even have an exact name for him, just some shitty surveillance photos.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is looking right at Michael now. “If I’d known you were wrapped up in this? Well. I’d have taken myself off the case immediately. Conflict of interest and all that.” He sighs. “Honestly, as soon as I check in with my superiors I know I’ll be removed. They’re not going to take chances in a case that’s this high-profile. Like, they definitely want a conviction. They’ll send someone else out to meet us, so the investigation isn’t compromised by our, our history.” He glances up at Michael. “I never expected to run into you on Quelnin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you really meant that, earlier,” Michael says, and Alex nods. “You, you also said that you’d thought about me, over the years, wondered what happened to me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sets his jaw, gives a tight nod. “Yes, Michael. Of course. Every damn Antarian job I’ve ever worked, I hoped it would get me closer to finding out what actually happened to you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives him a tight little smile. “Well, congratulations, Alex, now you know. Was it all you’d hoped for?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes flash. “You’re alive. So, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That shuts Michael up, chastens him a little. He eyes the blaster again, needs to change the subject. “Why don’t my powers work on you?” he asks bluntly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex blows out a breath. “I’ve had some... modifications.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael raises an eyebrow, remembering some of the modifications he’d seen in Sector 8. “Nothing too flashy, apparently. I’ve seen you naked, remember.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels bad immediately, at the way Alex averts his eyes. “Yeah.” He seems a little... pissed off? Embarrassed? “Trust me, naked, beaten, and tied up in a cage wasn’t how I pictured our reunion going.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows hard. “How, how did you picture it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stares at him for a moment. Softens. “There’d be times when I’d be on a planet, like a nice one, open-minded... not like Earth, you know? Where people don’t care if you’re human, or Antarian, or Zilthin, or whatever. Like Medela, or Rinkon. And, and I’d go into a bar, or a shop, or a restaurant and just imagine, like, what if you were there? What if you were there, just living your life? Happy. Healthy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words hang in the air between them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Michael says. He’s struck by an urge to reach out, grab Alex’s hand. Doesn’t act on it. “I’m glad we’re both alive, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex seems to take it as the olive branch it is. “Yeah,” he says. Straightens in his chair. “And I’d like to keep it that way. So let’s talk about what we’re going to do about Noah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Michael says. “Can we just throw him out of the airlock?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex laughs a little, and it cuts some of the tension. “That is really tempting, but I do have my orders.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what are those?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bring him back to Federation headquarters on Medela. Detain him, question him, have a trial, then hopefully watch him rot in jail. Chase down the rest of his associates, big fish like Enos that are getting rich off of buying and selling sentient beings.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael bites his lip. “That’s the right thing to do,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stares at him. “This is where I’m going to give you the speech I’d give anyone in your position. Testify against him, and you’ll be granted the full protection of the Federation. Confidentiality. Immunity. DNA cloaking and a new identity, tailored to your particular talents and interests. Armed guard through the entirety of the trial and up to two years after, if you so choose. The Witness Protection unit would set you up with housing, healthcare, therapy, job counseling if you need it...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about Isobel? Max?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If they agree to cooperate with the investigation, too, you could be placed together somewhere, if the three of you agreed to that. You could start over, all of you.” Alex takes a deep breath. “He blackmailed you, Michael. For years. Is probably doing the same with your brother and sister. He buys and sells people. Rapes them. The universe would be a better place if he was locked up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael certainly can’t argue with that. “I don’t want him to go free,” Michael says. “At this point, that just, just can’t happen. But does it have to be me? I mean, after all the shit that just went down, I’m sure your testimony would be more than enough. Be straight with me, Alex, could I really say no, even if I wanted to?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at Michael for a long moment. “Federation Intellligence Officer Manes would tell you that, if you don’t cooperate, that is your choice, but you’re likely facing charges for illegal modifications to interplanetary vehicles and contempt of court, at the very least. They might try to get you as an accessory to the species trafficking crimes as well.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex clears his throat. “Knowing what I know personally about your background, though, and with the assistance you’ve rendered in this particular investigation so far, which I would happily describe in detail to anyone that asked, I’d say it’s very unlikely that your case would actually get to trial, and even less likely that you would be convicted.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip a little then, drops his voice. “I understand why you’d be afraid of retaliation. Why it might be tempting, after everything Noah’s done, and everything that’s happened to you, to just keep quiet, hope you don’t get convicted, then leave this whole life in the fucking dust.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex isn’t looking at Michael, is just staring at his hands in his lap. “I know it’s not a great choice, but it <em>is</em> a choice.” He blows out a breath. “Um, why don’t you take a little time to think about it? In about half an hour I’m going to deal with Noah. If you agree to testify, you can meet me here, then we can go to the cargo hold together to see Noah. If not...” He bites his lip. “I’m gonna have to place you under arrest.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his head, then, looks at Michael. “Whatever you do decide, Michael, I really am glad I got to see you again. Wish, so much, that it could have been under different circumstances. But still....” He doesn’t finish his thought, just rocks back in his chair, stares down at the console.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swivels his chair away from the console, begins to stand and... stops. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looks at Alex. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” he says. “I’ll do it. I’ll testify.” Alex looks shocked, in a good way. “Past time I actually, like, did the right thing here. Helps that you’re doing it with me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyebrows quirk up a bit, and Michael swears there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Thank you, Michael.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Pull off the foil and watch it break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael helps Alex secure Noah.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a quick note that there are updated tags for this chapter - there are two brief descriptions of medical procedures that could be considered a bit of body horror, so please be aware of that before reading. Thanks!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t thank me yet. We still need to do something about Noah before you let your Federation friends know that you’re not fucking dead in the Quelnin marketplace.” Michael frowns. “Which, by the way, was a really shitty plan. Like, did you mean to get captured like that? Sold off like some piece of meat?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Alex says tightly. “Things... escalated.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael scoffs a bit. “Dammit, Alex. Like, is this what you actually do? For work? Like, day in, day out?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s usually just office stuff. Like, following money trails and looking up customs manifests. But every so often, yeah... I have to do field work, actually nail down the folks that are doing this shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It ever go really wrong for you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex blows out a breath. “Yeah. And sometimes it just feels... feels futile, I guess? Cause, like, this has always been happening, and will always be happening. But, um, I still think it’s worth it. To try and stop this where we can. Stop the people that are doing this shit. Help the people that get caught up in it. There were a lot of beings for sale in that market, Michael. You saw them.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah I did,” he sighs. “Can’t unsee them.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me neither,” Alex agrees, voice soft. “It’s why I’m still doing this.” He refocuses on Michael. “You really couldn’t find any more sedative?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The way the question’s phrased, it bothers Michael. Sounds like Alex is doubting him. “No, I really couldn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” Alex mutters. “Plan B, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns. “What, what exactly is Plan B?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s jaw is twitching. “There’s a way we can incapacitate him. Take his powers out for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael feels cold, suddenly. “Take his powers out? You, you can do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Alex says smoothly. “But there’s a cost to it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows nervously. “Cost? Like, what kind of cost?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is frowning. “You, you really with me on this, Michael?” Michael’s just looking at him, uncomprehending. “Can I trust you, for real?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael wants to make a smartass comment, a sharp remark. Alex still holds all the cards, as far as he’s concerned, but then he looks at Alex, really looks, and there’s a glint of... something. Fear? Vulnerability?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex exhales. “Okay. I told you earlier. That I have a modification.” Michael nods. “There, there’s a flower. Really rare. Grows only on Earth. And its pollen... well.The pollen suppresses Antarian abilities.” Alex bites his lip a little. “I’ve got a subdermal patch. In my arm, near the bicep. Releases a constant, synthesized dose of the pollen so there’s always some in my bloodstream.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “Oh my god. That’s why my powers haven’t worked on you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Everyone in my division gets a new patch put in before undercover or investigative work involving direct contact with Antarians. Usually the patches last about six months. Help protect us against any mind manipulation or TK. It’s not perfect, of course - like earlier, the patch wouldn’t have protected me from Noah, like, using his powers to bring a wall down on me or something. But, but he couldn’t directly, you know, snap my neck.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thought makes Michael sick.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve had mine in for about a month and a half now, so it’s still got plenty of juice.” Alex pauses, shakes his head a bit. “Enough to suppress Noah’s powers for the rest of the flight to Medela, no problem.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?” Michael’s reeling. “Back up, we’re going to Medela right now?” He’s never been there. It’s where Federation headquarters is located. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives a tight nod. “That’s where they’ll debrief us. It’s where you’ll stay until the trial.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will you be there too?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I live there,” Alex says. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll be spending plenty of time at headquarters, working on Noah’s case and trying to track down some of his other associates.” He makes a face. “Not to mention they’ll probably make me do more counseling after this whole Quelnin debacle. But yeah, I have an apartment there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At Alex’s mention of an apartment, Michael immediately wonders if Alex has aboyfriend. A husband. Kids, even. Has no idea how to ask so that it sounds natural. Knows that it doesn’t really matter, anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Any real chance Michael ever had with Alex died when Antar attacked Earth all those years ago. Retaliation. For accepting Antarian refugees like him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes, Michael wonders if they would have attacked if they’d known what that “acceptance” had actually looked like.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So we’re going to Medela,” Michael muses. Frowns. “How exactly do we use your patch to keep Noah’s powers offline?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s mouth is a thin little line. “We’re going to cut it out of me and put it into him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is sitting on the table in the kitchen area, coveralls half-off, legs dangling. Michael’s standing in front of him awkwardly, trying not to think about how, if he took a step forward, he’d be right between Alex’s thighs, touching distance from his shoulders, his chest, his...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex picks up the newly sanitized knife, takes a deep breath, and begins to cut, cut into his own arm, deeper than Michael expects. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” Michael hisses, wincing in sympathy. He looks at Alex’s face, realizes that he probably looks more pained than Alex does right now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is... fuck, digging his own gloved fingers into his arm, pulling out a small patch. “Got it,” he says, voice tight, as he puts the bloodied patch in a little dish.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael had forgotten what human blood smelled like. Copper.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blood’s all down Alex’s arm now, as he fumbles with the open first aid kit, grabs for a needle and surgical thread.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait,” Michael says, with dawning realization. “Wait, you’re not gonna try to sew your own fuckin’ arm back up by yourself, are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him, just makes a second attempt to thread the needle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Michael says, and he reaches out to Alex, touches his knee.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stops, the desired effect.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m, I’m no surgeon,” Michael says, “but I work on spaceships all day. Good with my hands.” He wiggles the fingers that aren’t still atop Alex’s knee. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives a shaky little laugh, at that. Michael’s glad to hear it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please? Let me do this for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he can see, at this moment, the uncertainty in Alex’s eyes, as well as the moment he decides to give in. To trust. “Yeah, Michael, okay,” Alex says, watching carefully as Michael takes the needle. He barely flinches when Michael makes the first pass with the needle, begins stitching the wound closed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s focused, trying his best to do a good job with this, to make the stitches small and even. It, it actually looks pretty good. “And... done,” Michael announces quietly, tying off the thread as best he can. “And let’s just do another disinfect,” he mutters, using the alcohol to rub away the blood, and Alex <em>does</em> flinch, this time, which is almost a relief, to see him be, be...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Human.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael grabs gauze and a bandage from the kit, places them over Alex’s incision with what he hopes is tenderness.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you.” Alex says, after a while. “That’s, that’s a much better job than I could have done on my own.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shrugs. “Hey, I agreed to help you, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex peers at him, a little paler than he was before this impromptu surgery started. “You agreed to testify. Not, not sew up open wounds.” He swallows, looks down at the bloody patch, still in a dish. “Let me clean this off, and we’ll get it into Noah.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael watches as he runs it under water, swabs it with the alcohol, then puts it on a second dish. Wordlessly hands it to Michael as he cleans and sterilizes the knife again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna try to be as quick as possible, down there,” Alex says. “I’m still protected from his powers.” He swallows. “Um, yours too, for that matter, for at least a few more days till the effects of the pollen totally fade from my bloodstream. Even just me being close to him should suppress his abilities to some extent, plus the close proximity of the patch should help keep him under control too, till I can get this into him. I’ll be putting it in his arm, where it was on me. Seems like the best place.” He pauses. “Much as I’d like to cram it down his fucking throat.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael scoffs a little. “Wouldn’t stop you there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well...” Alex trails off. “Um, if he does start coming to, you think you could try to, um, hold him steady so I can get the patch in him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael just stares at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, I know that’s not what you signed up for, but -“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not that,” Michael says quickly, “it’s just, I’m no match for him. Like, even for a native Antarian, he’s good. With his abilities. I’d barely slow him down.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m hoping it won’t matter. But, if something does happen, I’m thinking maybe this could be another layer of protection, you know? We’ve got the restraints, the sedative, the patch, um, me, like the blood in me that’s still kind of protected, and your powers...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I won’t let him hurt you,” Michael promises. For the second time today.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex inhales, a little sharply. Looks away quickly. “You should stay out of sight. You have no protection from his powers. He might not know you’re there if you’re out of sight.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And leave you alone with him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I won’t be alone. Not really.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael just nods, at that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make their way to the cargo hold. Michael hangs back, behind a stack of crates, but makes sure he has a clear sight line to observe Noah. He still looks completely out, and Michael pays close attention as Alex arranges the patch, the knife, gauze and a bandage. Even pre-threads the needle. Michael’s internally pleading for Alex to hurry the fuck up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah remains limp in the restraints as Alex cuts away the upper part of his sleeve, baring his bicep. Michael watches intently as Alex takes a deep breath and makes his incision. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Michael mutters. He, he can see from here that Noah has stirred a bit, is whimpering. He watches as Alex purses his lips, picks up the patch with a pair of tweezers, and carefully guides it under the skin of Noah’s upper arm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Faster, dammit,” Michael mutters. The tip of Alex’s needle has just entered Noah’s flesh when it happens.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s eyes open.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” he hears Alex say. Alex is sewing quickly now, trying to close Noah’s wound and keep the patch in place under his skin. Michael hears Noah struggling against the restraints, making strained noises, and then -</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks around. Takes in the green tinge of his surroundings, the way the hard edges of the world have suddenly blurred, softened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s in the mindscape. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Mike.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’s not alone.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Fermented minds could make them shake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Noah confronts Michael in the mindscape.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please note the updated tags for this chapter. If you would like specific information about tags prior to reading this chapter, please see end note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah is standing directly in front of Michael in the mindscape, staring him down.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a little hazy right now, Mike. It’s unlike me. What I think happened... well, it seems impossible.” He tilts his head a bit. “Did you knock me out earlier? With the sedative?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Michael says. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. There’s no lying in the mindscape. They, they found that out even before Noah came on the scene - Isobel playing around with her powers, reeling them in and asking embarrassing questions.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And why exactly would you do that, Mike?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You were going to hurt Alex.” A beat. “And you’re a species trafficker.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s eyes are flashing with rage. “Alex... who is he?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My first boyfriend.” <em>Fuck</em>. God fucking dammit. There’s no, no filter here, not even a way to be truthful but vague. No, the mindscape just pulls whatever truth is top of mind, no matter how inopportune.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah looks disbelieving. “Wait. The human we just bought used to be your <em>boyfriend</em>?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Show me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Fuck, fuck, fuck. </span>It’s Noah’s playground, here, and Michael has to comply.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, and it must have been his talk with Alex earlier, about La Jolla, because that’s exactly where Michael finds himself. In the cheap but clean little beachside motel room. Standing in the shower. Washing his hair.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh god. He, he knows exactly where this is going, knows what’s going to happen next and does <em>not</em> want Noah to see.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop,” he pleads, watching helplessly as the scene plays out before them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Alex, young and mischievous, with a tan line low on his hips, pulls the curtain back and invites himself in.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Alex says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey yourself,” Michael replies, lifting an eyebrow and blatantly checking Alex out.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve been in here a while. Thought I’d see if you needed help with anything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael barks out a laugh. “I’ve got sand all through my fucking hair,” he complains. “It’s taking me forever to get it out.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex moves closer to Michael, and the spray from the shower starts beating down on him, plastering his own hair to his head. “Seriously?” he prods, teasingly. “You want me to wash your hair?” he asks, threading a hand into Michael’s curls, using it as leverage to bring him close.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael knows what Alex wants, can <em>feel</em> what Alex wants. Leans his head back, lets Alex nuzzle his neck. “Fuck,” he mutters, bringing both of his hands up and gripping Alex around the back of the head. They’re kissing now, deeply, and he doesn’t even know who started it. Alex is fully pressed against him, licking into his mouth, so dirty, the warm water’s beating down on them, and Michael just says it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d rather you <em>pulled</em> my hair.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex pauses, withdraws a little. Eyes are dark. “Yeah?” he says, quirking an eyebrow and giving an experimental little tug.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael moans, involuntarily. “Yeah, Alex,” he mutters, chasing the words with a kiss. “Fuckin’... <em>direct</em> me, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gasps a little, pulls at Michael’s hair a bit harder and deepens their kiss. Backs himself up so he’s leaning against the wall of the shower, out of the main part of the spray. Pulls back slightly and smiles at Michael, surprisingly innocent before he pushes down gently on Michael’s head. “Like this?” he asks, as Michael sinks to his knees.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just like that,” Michael says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It proceeds from there. It’s... pornographic, is what it is. <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please,” moans the Alex of Michael’s memory as Michael takes him deep in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please,” begs Michael as Noah forces him to play the scene out in his memory.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not until Michael and Alex are sprawled out on the tile floor in matching towels that Noah finally speaks up.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s enough,” he says, and the memory is gone, replaced by the mindscape.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s humiliated and furious, watching helplessly as Noah looks at him and fucking <em>claps</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was quite the show, Michael. Should have slipped into your mind more often, honestly. You’re a lot more enthusiastic when you’re not on the clock.” His lascivious grin twists into something much darker. “Why’s the boyfriend here, now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To stop you. Turn you in.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah suddenly seems to understand that his questions need to be more focused, precise. “Is Alex Federation?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Noah mutters. Glares at Michael. “What’s he doing to me right now? My powers, they’re off. Fading. This,” he gestures to the mindscape, “with you, it’s all I can manage right now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s implanting a subdermal patch in your arm to block your powers.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you’re helping him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah shakes his head. ”How long have you been working with him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since you left me alone with him in the hold.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That seems to surprise Noah. “Wait, so you didn’t know he was Federation in the market?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s eyes narrow. “What kind of deal did he make with you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Testify against you, and I get witness protection. Max and Isobel, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah laughs a little. “And you believed him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Michael,” he sighs. “You naive little fuck. You think he and the Federation are going to do a damn thing for three Antarians?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes... I think so.” Michael can hear the uncertainty in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You cooperate with this man, and I will reach out to every contact in every corner of the universe to make sure you, Max, and Isobel die very unpleasant deaths.” </span>He exhales. “If your boy is working on me with that fucking patch, I don’t know how much time we have, so I’ll make this quick.  Has he formally charged you with anything yet?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah frowns. “Has he even made contact with the Federation yet?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah raises an eyebrow, gives Michael a quick once over. “Well. Why do you think that is?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns. “He, he wanted to help me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah rolls his eyes. “Please, Michael. Everything has a cost - have you forgotten what yours was?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” He swallows. Doesn’t want to continue but feels like he <em>has </em>to. “Baseline price was 400 felgin.” He wishes he didn’t know that. He wishes he’d <em>never</em> known that.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah gives him a satisfied nod, then his expression hardens. “You need to get rid of him before he makes contact with the Federation. Do whatever you have to do, then come get me. Free me. We’ll go back to Torno together.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah huffs out a breath and glares at Michael. “But once we get there, you’re done. It’s too late for you, you have to know that. A betrayal like this can’t be tolerated. </span>
  <span class="s1">I’ll make it quick, if you help me. But I’ll spare Isobel and Max. You’ve put them in the Federation’s crosshairs, you idiot, but if you help me now, I swear I won’t hurt them. I’ll protect them from the Federation.” <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah just stares at him. “We’re in the fucking mindscape, Mike - you know I’m not lying about this. Any of it.” He pauses. “So. Will you help me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah looks legitimately shocked at that. “Why the <em>fuck</em> not?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah’s confusion suddenly melts away, only to be replaced by something else. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pity.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh Mike, Mike.” He shakes his head. “This... oh god. I actually feel really sad for you right now.” Noah steps toward him, looks at him. “Do you... do you actually love him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Michael says, and he’s a little shocked to hear it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah snorts a little. “And let me guess, you think he loves you, too?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This question must be harder, because Michael’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, no shit you don’t know. God damn it, Michael, you’d sacrifice Isobel and Max for some, some Federation asshole you fucked back in high school?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s not an asshole,” Michael says quickly, and he’s relieved that <em>that’s</em> the part of Noah’s question his treacherous brain latched onto...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Noah stares at him, a focused expression on his face. </span>“He know about Sector 8?”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah. Well, there you go. I mean, I saw that shower performance, and that was before you got properly trained up. Probably just wants another taste, see what you learned. I mean, maybe if you’d decided to sell your ass to one of the pleasure centers on Velar, you could come back from that. Some circles, that actually buys you some cachet. Selgon’s third wife, for example, remember her?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ravena, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But Sector 8?” Noah continues. “That’s dregs of the galaxy. I know it, you know it, he knows it.” Noah shakes his head. “Cut your losses, Mike. Think about what’s <em>really</em> important to you - Isobel and Ma-“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael? Michael?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s blinking rapidly, trying to orient himself, make sense of what he’s seeing and hearing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, Michael, can you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Alex. Alex’s voice, and Alex’s face, looking right at him. So earnest.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blood all over his mouth and chin.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter contains an explicit description of a sexual encounter between teenage Michael and Alex that Noah forces Michael to show him against his will while in the mindscape. In this chapter, Noah also makes multiple demeaning comments to Michael about his past sex work. You may want to skip this chapter if reading this content would be upsetting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Inequality of the drifting chain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael makes a request of Alex and deals with the fallout of the mindscape.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, Alex, are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex actually looks confused.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your, your face, it’s covered in - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh!” Alex says, as if he’s just realized there’s blood all over him. “Noah, he was coming to, I think. He started struggling and I, I head butted him. Was able to knock him out.” He reaches up to his face. “Gave myself a nosebleed, but I, I’m fine.” He frowns down at Michael. “What about you? I called out to you but couldn’t get a response, and when I finally finished up with Noah, you were just lying here, behind the boxes, out of it...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sits up gingerly, winces. He’s shaken from his interaction with Noah. “How long was I out, just now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “Not long. Minute or two?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, the mindscape is so disorienting. Alex could have said two hours and Michael would have believed him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We need to get out of the hold,” Michael mutters, using his powers to train every camera on Noah. He begins to rise, shakily, gripping the top of a large shipping container for support and willing himself not to topple over.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael?” Alex says, looking uncertain. He’s hovering around Michael, like he isn’t sure whether to offer him assistance or not.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael... Michael doesn’t want Alex to touch him right now, feels sick and wrong at the thought of it. He’s furious at Noah, for making him play out the memory of him and Alex in the motel. With all the shit he’s been through since leaving Earth, he’s guarded his memories of Alex like they’re something precious - only to be pulled out when it’s safe, when he wants, <em>needs</em> the reminder that at some past point in his life, someone cared about him like that. Loved him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates that Noah’s taken such a memory, warped it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as he struggles to his feet, he appraises Alex with a newly cool eye. He, he does look concerned... but is it for Michael or for the mission?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It could be both</em>, comes a hopeful whisper.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is actually what Alex does, Michael reminds himself. Goes undercover. Becomes someone else. Fools people. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">I would have used all the tools at my disposal to meet my mission objectives.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right now, Michael’s just another tool.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cockpit, now,” Michael says tightly, securing the door to the hold as they leave. Alex is eyeing him warily with each step. Michael reaches out with his powers, tries to get a read on Alex - anything.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s nothing. Veins are still pumped full of pollen.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Michael,” Alex says, overly casual. “Was just thinking. About Earth. How we’d eat at the Crashdown. They had the best milkshakes. I’d always get peanut butter blast off.” He swallows. “What was your favorite flavor?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stops. Narrows his eyes. “Red planet,” he says tightly, watching as Alex’s shoulders relax a little. “But if he was really in me right now, he could’ve had me show him that, then answered you.” Alex’s jaw tightens. “I dunno how to prove I’m really me right now,” Michael sighs. “But I am.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re acting off,” Alex says as they reach the cockpit, not taking his eyes off Michael as he slides into the pilot’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With all the thoughts churning in his head, it rubs him wrong. “And how the fuck would you know what I act like when I’m <em>on</em> these days, Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sees the flash of hurt, quickly gone, smoothed over into something cautiously blank. “What happened, Michael? In the hold?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I need to make a call first.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A call?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is frowning. “What, what kind of a call?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To Max and Isobel. I,” his voice breaks. He swallows. Regroups. “I need to make sure they’re okay, need to warn them what’s coming. And I need your word, your fucking word that the Federation is going to protect them, whatever goes down. Whatever they know or don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because... because Noah might be a fucking monster. He might have dredged up Michael’s past, with Alex and Sector 8 - pressed those bruises just to hurt him. But he wasn’t wrong about Isobel and Max, how Michael’s been so... so fucking blinded by Alex’s flashy reentry back into his life, that he’s neglected the people who <em>really</em> matter.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is worrying his lip with his teeth. Blows out a breath. “Michael,” he says, in a damnably calm voice. “I can’t let you do that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head. “Not good enough, Alex,” he says tightly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s composure cracks a little. “I’m sorry, Michael,” he says, and damn, he’s good - the little waver of the voice, the hint of desperation. “There, there are protocols. As soon as I call this in, there will be a team departing for Torno. They’ll raid Noah’s offices, detain anyone they can for questioning, including your siblings.” He sighs. “I know you hope they’re not involved, Michael, but they might be. And if they tip off the wrong people, intentionally or not, then we miss the opportunity to get the whole damn trafficking ring, instead of just Noah. I can’t let that happen.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They are in danger!” Michael shouts. A loose piece of paneling rattles on the ceiling, and Alex eyes it warily. “As soon as Noah and I miss the delivery window on Xanar, his entire operation is going to be scrambling to figure out what happened. They’ll probably call Enos first, and whoever the contact is on Xanar. If anyone even suspects that I had something to do with this, it’ll be Isobel and Max that pay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My team will do the raid well before the missed delivery window, Michael,” Alex says smoothly. “Like, this is what we <em>do</em>, this is our job.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s Max and Isobel, Alex,” Michael says, desperate. “Trying to keep them safe was the whole reason I left Earth, the whole reason I ever set foot in Sector 8, the reason I’m still with Noah! If anything happens to them because I’m trying to, to play the fucking hero, with you, I don’t know what I’d do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael,” Alex says, looking so tense. “I <em>can’t</em>. I... I’ve already bent so many rules here, with you...” he mutters, almost to himself.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well keep fucking bending!” Michael shouts. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pauses. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or is it <em>me</em> that you want to bend, huh Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex blinks. Frowns, like he’s misheard. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael knows what Noah thinks Alex wants, why Alex has been so damn nice to him. Michael... Michael isn’t as sure. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He, he thinks there is a possibility that Alex really does care. Feels some measure of fondness toward the Michael he apparently loved at 18, and whatever hints of that boy remain. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then... he has bent the rules for Michael, relaxed the usual standards. Why? If it’s not because he just genuinely cares, then it might be because he wants something. Is still hoping for something. Something that wouldn’t be quite... proper, if the Federation had already been brought in. Money. Goods. Information. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Favors. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows, hard. This... this is a gamble. With some high fucking stakes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max and Isobel’s lives. Their freedom. Michael’s heart. Any, any possible future he and Alex could maybe...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Idiot</em>. He <em>is</em> a naive little fuck, just like Noah had said. Cause maybe... maybe if Antar had never attacked Earth. Maybe if Alex had never been drafted and Michael had never taken off. Maybe if they’d just met back up in that random bar of Alex’s daydreams. Michael loves him - he’d said as much in the mindscape, so it <em>must</em> be true.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But as it stands, here and now, there’s no chance. No future - not together, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Michael rolls the dice.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, Alex,” Michael says softly, reaching out for him, placing his hand on his knee.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex inhales sharply at the contact, eyes darting to Michael’s hand. “I’m sorry, Michael, I really am. I know how much you care about them. But I can’t let you contact them, not until we’ve run the idea past my superiors at the Federation.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at Alex, then. Sees his wide eyes, the way his chest is rising and falling at uneven intervals. Remembers how Alex would look at him, all those years ago, remembers some of the things he’s said today, about having loved Michael, about past intimacies, the tattoos, La Jolla...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, Alex,” he says, gripping his knee even tighter and leaning into his space. “I’d do anything.” Licks his lips, drops his voice. Hopes his intentions are clear. “Anything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For an instant, Alex’s nostrils flare and his eyes go even wider before he swivels the captain’s chair away from Michael, twists his leg out of Michael’s grasp as if he’s been burned. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” he’s saying, voice harsh. “Michael, <em>no</em>,” he repeats, looking so hurt. “I’m not... I wouldn’t do that. To anyone. It’s the whole thing that I, I fight against. I wouldn’t do that to you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael narrows his eyes at him, slumps back in the co-pilot’s chair. “Come the fuck on, Alex. Why else would you be this nice to me? You said it yourself - anyone else, you’d have called this in, arrested them by now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe that’s what I <em>should</em> have done,” Alex says, frustrated. “Treated you like I would have treated anyone else involved in something this fucked up. Knocked you out with the sedative, then secured Noah. Called it in. Probably could have had an interrogation team waiting to board as soon as we crossed into Federation space.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s curled in on himself, shaking his head. “Look, Michael, I am sorry things have been so shitty for you in your life. I am <em>sorry</em> about that. I wish to god that things hadn’t happened the way they did, in both our lives. You have no idea how much I wish that we could have just, just been 18 year old kids together.” His shoulders slump. “But here we are. You are involved in a species trafficking ring. I’m Federation. And I’m not gonna let you blow this entire investigation!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words hang in the air between them.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He got in your head, didn’t he?” Alex asks, finally. Calmer now. “Down in the hold?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods. Doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks concerned. “What did he -“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stops. Looks down at the console. Clears his throat. “You, you can debrief the Federation Officer assigned to your case.” He’s still not looking at Michael. “I’m going to call this in now,” he says, moving his hands across the console.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael listens, miserable, as Alex opens a secure channel, authenticates his identity.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Code name?” a voice asks him, and Alex briefly closes his eyes before responding.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“La Jolla,” he responds.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Split the difference, call it quits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alex debriefs the Federation and waits for their assistance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things move quickly, once the Federation gets involved.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within seconds of identifying himself, Alex is patched through to a secure channel. The voice on the other end sounds steady but concerned.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Officer Manes, please report. Current location and status?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex reads off the star coordinates and glances at Michael. “Please be advised, there is a civilian present.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Civilian? Please state your name.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at Michael expectantly. “Michael Guerin,” he says, trying to shove down the anxiety he feels.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Federation identification number?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God... it’s been so long. He hasn’t needed it since he left Earth. “Um, 876-310-8401,” he rattles off, impressed that he hasn’t forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Thank you.” He can almost hear the frown through the channel. “There is no current Federation location listed for Mr. Guerin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at Michael, raises an eyebrow. This is an offer, an offer to let Alex deal with the Federation. Michael nods, lets him. Alex clears his throat, begins speaking. “Mr. Guerin has lived outside of Federation territory for almost ten years.” Alex takes a deep breath, exhales. “And I want to disclose, right away, that Mr. Guerin and I used to be in a relationship between the ages of 17 and 18.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pause on the other end of the line is too long to be typical. “I’m sorry Alex, um, Officer Manes. Please repeat?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex purses his lips. “Michael Guerin and I were in a romantic,” Alex fumbles over the word, has to repeat it, “romantic and sexual relationship between the ages of 17 and 18. On Earth, prior to the Antarian attack.” He takes another deep breath. “We have had no contact since that time, and unexpectedly encountered each other today during my mission on Quelnin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael hears some breathing on the other end of the line, then a second, deeper voice clicks on. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Manes?” He sees Alex’s jaw tighten. “This is Garvin, do you copy?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I copy, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been informed that you are traveling with an Antarian civilian, is that correct?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, sir. Two, actually. Michael Guerin, who is with me now, and Noah Bracken, who is currently incapacitated. Bracken is our Antarian trafficker, sir. Among other crimes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man on the other side of the line gives a weary-sounding exhale. “You’ve been busy, Manes. We will do a full debrief, but first, let’s cover priority items. Do you require any immediate assistance?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s over an hour later before the call finally ends. A team’s been dispatched to Torno, a Federation vessel is en route to meet Michael and Alex, and Michael has officially agreed to cooperate fully with the investigation.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s also pled with the Federation to help Isobel and Max, but knows there are no guarantees - just a tense waiting game between now and the conclusion of the raid on Torno.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is sitting, still and quiet in the captain’s chair, not looking at Michael.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You told them everything,” Michael says after a while. It had surprised him to hear Alex hold nothing back from his superiors, including his decisions not to arrest Michael or contact the Federation right away. Including his past history with Michael, his past feelings. “Like, <em>everything</em> everything.” Michael frowns. “You, you gonna get in trouble? Because of me? Like with your job?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex turns to him, brow furrowed. “That... that will be for them to decide.” He scoffs a little. “And as far as telling them everything, well, they’re going to see it all anyway,” he says, a little resigned. “Better to just be up front about it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael just stares at him, confused.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In the official debrief,” Alex adds, peering at Michael. Seems to realize something, suddenly. “Wait. Shit. It’s been almost ten years that you’ve been out of Federation territory, right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah...” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip a little. “Okay. Okay. Um, this is important for you to know, because it might come into play here. Hopefully won’t. But it might.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A feeling of dread starts creeping in. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So. After the Antarian attack on Earth by the rebels, and Earth’s counter attack, there was a huge influx of Antarian refugees into Federation territory. Which meant a lot more beings with mental abilities. It kind of forced the issue, with the Federation.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What issue?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex pauses. “I... they’ll explain all of this to you, I’m sure. In detail. They, they have to,” he mutters, half to himself, “you’re a witness in a major intergalactic investigation. But, um, it’s to do with mental abilities. Their proper use. Obviously every culture is different, but for criminal justice purposes, we needed to adopt a specific standard for Federation-wise use. The Federation ended up just lifting policy directly from the Zilthins, since they’re all telepaths. Employed a bunch of Zilthins, too, to carry out the testimonies and debriefs and such.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Testimonies?” Michael asks. “Debriefs?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Alex says. “When I’m done with an undercover job, I have to go through a mental debrief.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s, it’s part and parcel for the job now. Honestly, they’ve done some research into it, and Federation abuses of power are way down from ten, twenty years ago.” Alex looks down. “There’s always a Zilthin mentalist present. We’re, we’re trying to train up some Antarians to do the job, too. They facilitate the connection and make sure whoever’s doing the questioning doesn’t overstep.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael is just gaping at him. “Wait, so someone gets in your head after every job?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives a tight nod. “Every undercover job, yes. And...” He exhales, a little unsteadily. “Earlier, did you hear us talking about mind warrants?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They want to get one for Noah. Which I agree with - he’s dangerous, and I doubt he’d cooperate with any attempts at a traditional Federation investigation.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was wondering what that meant, when you said it,” Michael says. “You told them you advised against it for me and recited some statute.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks uncomfortable. “Yeah. Um... “ He looks at Michael. “You let me know, earlier, that Noah had gotten in your head.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael tenses. Nods.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m guessing that it was probably without your permission, and that maybe he asked you unwanted questions?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If only that had been the extent of it, Michael thinks, remembering the way he’d tried so hard to block Noah from witnessing his encounter with Alex, to no avail.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Well... if he did, then that’s really illegal. The Zilthins call it a mind crime. Obviously sometimes mental, like, sharing or projection can’t be helped - Antarians and Zilthins both tend to pick up on someone else’s general emotions and motivations without any effort sometimes. And it sometimes apparently happens when a loved one is in distress - like, that can be felt through a bond or link, and sometimes there are even visions along with that.But according to the Zilthins, who’ve been dealing with this forever, that’s different. Different from, like...” he pauses, “from <em>invading</em> someone’s mind.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s mouth twists a bit, and he knows Alex notices. Aside from just the visceral reaction to Noah’s actual invasion earlier, there’s something else Noah had said in the mindscape that’s bothering Michael now.“I... I don’t think this was the first time he’s ever done it. Think maybe it’s happened before, that he’s made me, like, show him things. Makes me wonder if he’s done it to Max and Isobel too. Or, like, made us do things. I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks sad. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s definitely all really, really illegal.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had no idea,” Michael murmurs. “We were so cut off, and he never let us actually, like, develop our powers, learn about them. And we got no help growing up on Earth...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Alex says quietly. Looks, for a moment, like he’s going to lean in, closer to Michael, but stops himself. “That statute I referenced earlier? It states that mind warrants are generally contraindicated for folks that have been victims of mental crimes. It can be retraumatizing.” He pauses. “There <em>are</em> mind healers - Zilthins, Antarians. They help people who’ve been victims of a mental invasion. If you’d ever want -“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A tone sounds, just then, and Alex checks the screen. “That’s the Federation vessel. They should be here within ten minutes.” He sighs. “I... I’d advise just cooperating with them, providing as much information as you can about Noah’s home base and operation structure. Anything at all that you saw. Like, even what you told me about the Zilthin grog. Like, anything helps.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” Michael swallows. “Hey Alex?” Alex raises his head, looks right at him. “Thank you. I, um, I know you’re doing what you can. For me. And the universe is better without Noah in it. Just...” he pauses, remembers his awkward and desperate attempt at seduction earlier, “just please, please help Max and Isobel if you can, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s bottom lip juts out, just a little. “I... I’ll try.” He looks down at his lap, and when he speaks, his voice sounds anguished. “I’m sorry if I did anything here to make you, make you think you had to, to...” he stops. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, with me bringing up the past. It’s just... seeing you alive, after all this time, I just -“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he cuts himself off, then, lets out a strangled little laugh. “Fuck, and that’s why I really can’t be on this case anymore.” He blows out a shaky breath.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sit silently until the Federation vessel is in sight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Erase mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Years after the trial, Michael is recognized by someone unexpected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a time jump at the beginning of this chapter, and some shifting tenses.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He freezes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael Guerin?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. Holy shit. He tries to remember the training, from witness protection. Don’t react, just carry on with what you’re doing, act confused if pressed...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman’s getting closer, now, on his right. Michael’s gripping his glass, eyeing his surroundings. He could send a bottle flying into her, if needed. A bar stool. It would look like an accident.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He, he should have never come here. Stupid. He hasn’t been to Medela in three years, and during the trial it’s not like he ever left Federation headquarters...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He readies himself, turns his head...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And comes face to face with Liz Ortecho.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not an actor. He’s never really been able to mask his emotions and reactions - not even on Sector 8, not that it had really mattered. He’s sure she can tell that he recognizes her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches as Liz’s eyes widen and she smiles, broadly. “Michael!” she cries, bringing a hand up to his arm. “It’s been a long time!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows that Liz and Alex still talk. It’s one of the only things Max ever asked Alex, in the limited contacts they’d had, and it was so transparent that Michael still brings it up two years later. Alex has mentioned her, casually, on occasions. Has said she spends a lot of her time working.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not like Alex is much different, Michael thinks, somewhat bitterly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So... so he thinks this is okay, as in not <em>deadly</em>. Like, it would be pretty damn unlikely that Liz is some sleeper agent for one of Noah’s associates.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, but they can’t talk here. He gives her a polite smile. “Liz, of course!” he says, leans in for a brief hug. Thinks maybe this will be it - a quick little greeting, nothing more. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you up to these days?” She asks, curious eyes taking him in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you know, some Federation stuff.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz gives him a knowing smile. “Isn’t that what brings everyone to Medela?” She looks down at her glass, wrinkles her nose. “It’s certainly not for the tequila, dios mio...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives a tight, polite little smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m out with some work colleagues,” Liz explains, gesturing to a group of four at a high top in the corner. Already looking at Liz and Michael with interest. “Wait until they hear we went to high school together on Earth of all - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Liz</em>,” Michael says, a little harshly. “You can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The smile is gone, replaced by concern. “Michael?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites his lip a little, leans close. “It’s Robert, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re at a quiet table in the lobby of the Federation-operated (and guarded) hotel where Michael is staying. He... he knows what people are probably thinking, seeing the two of them together - Liz beautiful as ever, face flushed from the tequila, and Michael, dressed up about as nicely as he gets.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dressed up as if he’d been hoping to run into a different Federation-employed Roswell High graduate tonight at the bar nearest to Intelligence Headquarters.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite said graduate’s polite but firm rejections of Michael’s attempts to arrange an in-person meet up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It stings. It obviously still stings. He hasn’t seen Alex in person in two years, since the guilty verdict had been delivered in Noah’s trial. Since Michael told him that they weren’t staying on Medela, and that it had been Michael’s decision.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve communicated, over the years. Very official, at first. All business.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">...I understand that, when dealing with the Federation, bureaucratic channels can be time consuming and difficult to navigate. If you require any additional assistance, or would like me to make any calls on your behalf, please do not hesitate to contact me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Best,</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Officer Alexander Manes</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Federation Intelligence</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then, a few months later, when Michael moved out of the house he’d shared with Isobel, into his own apartment, he’d received a delivery.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d scanned it, of course, as protocol dictated, and was surprised to see that it was a plant. And a message.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From “Alex.” Not... not Officer Manes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I hope you don’t mind that I am writing to you. I heard that you have your own place now. I’m happy for you. I hope that all is well on Embria.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">I spoke with some of my Antarian colleagues, and this is apparently a traditional gift given by Antarians at times of transition.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">I’m enclosing my personal contact information, and wishing you the best.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Sincerely,</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Alex</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael had stared at Alex’s contact information for approximately three minutes before reaching for his communicator. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Messages turned into calls that turned into video chats. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was on one of those video chats that Alex had posed an idea.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna ask you something. And I just, before I ask, just please know that you can say no. To what I’m asking.” He paused. “I mean, you know you don’t owe me or the Federation anything, right? Like, not even these phone calls, with me - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex,” Michael interrupted. “I like these phone calls. With you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The corner of Alex’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. “Okay. Well. The modifications you made. To, to that ship.” Michael appreciated that the name “Noah” was never mentioned. “They were so good. That craft was a piece of junk that handled like it was new-issue.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael felt warm at the praise, especially coming from Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ve had problems, in the past,” Alex said, face so serious, “when we’re doing undercover work. It’s why I had to ditch my original craft on Slindal - a practiced eye knows what typical crafts look like, knows what Federation tech looks like.” He looked at Michael. “Would you ever consider making some similar modifications to seized crafts? It would help us outrun and maneuver most of the crafts we come across, while attracting no extra attention when we’re at the hangar.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael was quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’d be compensated, of course,” Alex added quickly. “You, you wouldn’t have to go off world.We could fly the ships out to your garage on Embria and you could work on them there. Take a little time to think about it and let me know.“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was going to say no, at first. But then thought of so many things - helping out, giving back... protecting Alex, specifically. Doing what he could, in his way, to make sure he was safe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the calls with Alex became more frequent - all talk of engines and external paneling, at first, but eventually personal details bled through. Alex’s latest promotion. Michael’s favorite taco stand on Embria. The frankly <em>ridiculous</em> new crime drama half the universe was watching about a fictional intelligence agent who “wasn’t half as hot as Alex,” Michael had blurted, unthinking. It had gotten him a laugh, thank god. Even, maybe even a blush, though it was hard to tell on the video chat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael had even thought things might be... progressing?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Evening, Officer.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex tipped his head toward Michael, an intense expression on his face over the video screen. “Evening.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael was surprised to see what looked like a bottle of Earth whiskey in the background, the tumbler in Alex’s hand. “The new ship you sent us is nice. Really nice. I think I’m gonna take it out for a spin soon. Might be gone for a little while.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was going out on a mission. That was what he was really saying, Michael knew. “Don’t... don’t push the equipment too hard, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll try.“ Alex sipped his drink, looked right at Michael. “I’m thinking that maybe when I finish up, I’ll take a vacation.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I know you like the beach. And I’ve got plenty of room here,” Michael said, patting the bed where he was currently sprawled out. </span>
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “I, I’ve got a guest room, I mean. So does Isobel, and Max has a couch, at least...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex had a faintly amused expression on his face. “I’ll let you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he... never did. No word from Alex for over a month. And knowing Alex’s job, his line of work, Michael was worried as hell, of course, but it wasn’t so unusual. Had happened before, often without warning. It’s not like Alex could share details about where he went, what he did.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was what had happened, after. Alex took longer to respond to messages. Seemed to be busier with work. Noncommittal about video chats. The worst, though, was when Michael had brought up the trip to Medela.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Federation wants me to come out to Medela next month.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Why would they have you do that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ouch, okay. <em>Actually lay eyes on some parts. Cheaper to fly me to Medela than fly six different seized ships to Embria I guess.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Are pictures and video not working well enough?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowned. <em>They’re okay, but not like actually getting under the hood.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No response, from Alex. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Thought maybe we could meet up while I’m there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then, finally: <em>I’ll have to check my work calendar as it gets closer. It’s been a busy time.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael tried again. And tried. And eventually stopped. He, he can read between the lines. Knows when he’s unwelcome.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He refocuses in on Liz, looking practically the same as in high school. She’s carefully sipping her drink, looking him over.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So... let me get this straight. You are in witness protection and have a whole new identity, and that’s why you couldn’t meet my work colleagues.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yup,” Michael says. “That about sums it up.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz raises an eyebrow. “Unexpected.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives a wry laugh. “Yeah.” He swallows nervously. “Um, obviously, you can’t tell anyone about this. Seeing me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh god, I won’t,” Liz says, shaking her head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” says Michael. “So, um, what have you been up to, these past ten years?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz sighs, takes a little sip of her tequila, and tells him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tells him about the attack. The draft. She’d ended up doing biomedical research that caught the attention of the Federation and has been on Medela for almost a decade. Full ride to the University here and a generous stipend.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s fascinating, to hear her speak about her research and all the opportunities she has here that she could have never had on Earth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s so much more open here, Mi- , Robert.” She cocks her head. “Can I call you Bobby?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael laughs a little. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like it better than Earth, and I convinced everyone else to come here, too - Papi, Rosa.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael smiles. “They’re doing well?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They are.” Liz is quiet for a moment, studying his face. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well...” It feels weird. He’s said nothing to anyone about this for the past three years. Avoids the topic even with Isobel and Max. Alex. He tries to think of the most sanitized version possible, to tell Liz. “After the attack on Earth, we left right away and... things were really tough. We fell in with, with a really bad dude who was into really bad shit. Didn’t know quite how bad for a really long time.” Michael takes a quick gulp of his drink. “Things, um, kind of came to a head a few years ago, and we ended up testifying against him. We’re in witness protection now. I can’t tell you where.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz is wide eyed. “That’s... just...” she shakes her head. “<em>Loquísimo</em>. Loquísimo is what that is.” She bites her lip a little. “But you’re okay? Like you’re okay now?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shrugs. “Getting there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives a tight little nod, changes direction. “Well you look good!” she says brightly, then grimaces. “Like, you look <em>well</em>. It’s not like I want to, like, you know...” She gestures in the air between them. “I have a fiancé,” she explains, flustered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael chuckles. “It’s okay, Liz. You look good, too.” He smirks. “You look <em>well</em>. I’ll be sure to let someone else know,” he says, mischievously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god, I wasn’t going to ask, just given, you know, everything, but... he’s okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael smiles. “He is.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz slumps back a little in her seat, smiles softly. “Gracias a dios. Really,” she says, quite earnestly. “I always wondered. Always hoped. He in a similar, um, situation to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re neighbors, pretty much. Talk all the time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz smiles. “Well, <em>Bobby</em>, tell...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tim.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tim?” Liz snorts. “Por dios... well. Tell <em>Tim</em> I said hello.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will. He... he’ll love that, Liz. Love hearing you’re doing well, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wow,” Liz says, almost to herself. “Tim.” She shakes her head. “Speaking of high school sweethearts,” she says, sounding a bit devious. Michael groans a little. “Did you know Alex lives here on Medela?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael inhales. “I did, actually.” He chuckles to himself. Leans in. “You, you can’t tell anyone this, Liz, but it was actually Alex that got us out. Got us the deal with the Federation.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz is gaping at him. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, Wait a minute. This wasn’t... wasn’t that awful trial a few years back. The species trafficking mind rapist?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s not looking at Liz. Reaches for his drink. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit. Oh my god.” She reaches for his hand, grips it hard. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay. That you got out. Oh my god. I read about that, what they could publish about it, anyway. That... that was tough on Alex.” She shakes her head. “Knowing, now, that it was you?” And she looks so sad, then, so pained. “God, he just can’t catch a break, can he?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael inclines his head, looks at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She frowns, then, just a little. “You going to visit him, while you’re in town? That, that would be really nice if you did. Like if you’re allowed to - I don’t know how that all works, with your situation. But it would probably mean a lot to him, with everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives a wry little chuckle. “Believe me, Liz, I’ve tried. Sounds like he’s really busy with work, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz freezes. “<em>He</em> told you that? That he was busy at work?” She’s frowning. “And that’s why he couldn’t meet up with you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says slowly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Liz looks angry now, eyes flashing. “Idiota,” she mutters. Her mouth is twisting around, like she’s pondering what to say. How to say it. “He’s not working right now. He’s on leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words land like a punch. “Oh,” Michael says, trying to mask the hurt. “Well, it’s up to him who he wants to talk to and - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Liz cuts him off. “I know Alex, and that’s not it. He... <em>mierda</em>.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Alex was hurt. On the job. A while back. It was bad. He almost didn’t make it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bites her lip. “He... he lost his leg, Michael.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Permission granted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael and Alex spend time together on Medela.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">I’ve been made.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. Is that... is that something someone would actually say? Or is that just, like, overly dramatic? The kind of shit they only say on <em>Codename: Altair</em>?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Recognized</em>. Michael types. <em>I’ve been</em> -</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">He doesn’t even finish typing before Alex responds. <em>Coming to you. Current location?</em></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael replies immediately with the name of his hotel and the room number. And he knows. Knows that this is a bit... underhanded. Manipulative. But god dammit, if Alex had just been up front with him...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Answer for no one. Will text when I’m outside door.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s only about twenty minutes before Michael gets another text, hears a light knock on the door informing him of Alex’s presence. He checks the security peephole, just in case, before pulling the door open wide and stepping back.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a palpable tension as Alex enters the room. On crutches. His eyes are darting around, and Michael doesn’t miss the telltale bulge of a service weapon at Alex’s side. “Are you alone?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Were you followed?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex crosses to him quickly. “We need to check you. Make sure you weren’t bugged. Last thing we need is -“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It must be his tone, because Alex stops. Looks at him sharply.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was Liz.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “Liz?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Liz Ortecho. That’s who recognized me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is quiet. Too quiet, just staring at Michael, and Michael takes the opportunity to stare right back.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex... does not look well. He looks tired, in a bone-deep kind of way. Paler then usual - almost grey, in tone. Dark circles beneath his eyes. Thinner. And of course, the crutches, the... </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sees him glance down, and his mouth twists a bit. “She told you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says softly. “Wish <em>you</em> would have told me, Alex.” Michael swallows. “That why you’ve been so dodgy? These past few months?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sighs in a deep, put-upon manner. “I’m gonna sit,” he says. Michael nods, watches as Alex glances around the room and, in a resigned way, sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, setting his crutches next to him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that moment, Michael realizes that he’s been standing in front of the only chair in the room. He scrambles to pull it away from the desk, turn it around to face Alex, and sit down himself.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Were you going to tell me?” Michael asks quietly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” It’s unconvincing. “At some point,” Alex adds.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael blows out a breath. “Did... did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I’d be an asshole about it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Alex says quickly. “No.” Firmer this time. “<em>I</em> couldn’t handle it. It was me, okay? Me that was the asshole, I guess. Me that was fucked up. I just... god.” Alex’s gaze is faraway as he shakes his head. “All I wanted was you, Michael. For the longest time. Alive. And then, then I got that, and it was, god it was so fucked. Like the whole damn universe conspired to give me the one thing I wanted, but in the worst way.” Alex swallows thickly. “And then... then that fucking trial finally ended, and we started talking again, and things, things were getting better between us, right? You were safe on Embria. Settled.We were actually, like, communicating, and I thought... well.” He glances down, at the leg Michael knows is missing under his dark pants. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that... that pulls a flare of anger from Michael that he doesn’t expect. “Of course it matters, Alex!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does it?” Alex asks, and he sounds so hopeless. There’s a dark energy to him as he raises his head, meets Michael’s gaze. “If you told me, right now, that you wanted me...” He scoffs. “God, what would it fucking matter?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael opens his mouth to protest, but Alex barrels forward. “What could I even do?” He looks away again, at the blandly patterned bedspread. Fiddles with it as he speaks. “I’m not, I’m not working right. Not right now. And not... not in any way, okay?” He looks at Michael then, beseeching. “Not my head, not my body, not...” he trails off, blows out a breath. “Not anything. I’m trying,” he says quietly. “Like, I’m working on it. I swear to you I am. But right now, I just... I can’t. And I don’t know if it’s the meds, or the injury, or everything going on, like, mentally, but that’s where I am right now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He must see Michael’s alarm, concern, because he holds up a hand. “I’m doing everything I should be doing, okay? Physical therapy, medical appointments, counseling. Sleeping. Eating. And, and it’s helping, it’s all helping, but it’s not overnight.” His mouth twists a little. “Not... not even for you. And I don’t know when it will be. If it will be.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s quiet in the room. So quiet, as they just stare at each other, take each other in. Michael considers his words, clears his throat. “What... what if I just want whatever you are, right now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael...” Alex starts to protest.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Michael implores, half desperate. “Hear me out. Please. What if I just want... you? Here.” He gestures to the hotel room. “Like this. Watching a shitty movie. Paying too much for minibar snacks. What... what if that’s all I want from you right now, Alex? Can you give me that? Please?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s jaw tightens. “I want to, Michael. God, you have no idea how much. But tonight... it’s a bad night. I need to sleep, and I need my meds.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks away. “I... of course, Alex. I’m sorry I called you so late tonight when there was nothing - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s do it tomorrow,” Alex interrupts. “Here, at the room. I’ll bring food.” Alex falters. “If, I mean, if that works for you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Alex.” He says quickly. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he squints, it’s almost like old times.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sprawled out on the bed, propped up on pillows, eating chips and guacamole right out of the takeout containers.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” he says, brushing an accidentally crushed chip off the bedspread and into his open palm. “Feel bad doing this on your bed.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” He pauses, thoughtful. “There a reason you wanted to meet here, rather than somewhere else?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “Known commodity, I guess. I’m still learning how to get around, and all these Federation buildings are pretty updated, predictable.” He glances quickly at Michael. “Guarded, too.” He blows out a breath. “Scared me, last night. When you said someone recognized you.” He stretches his neck a little, this way and that. “Figured why take a chance?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fair enough,” Michael says. Frowns a little. “And, your place?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex raises an eyebrow. “My place?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. “Any reason we’re not there?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex leans back heavily against the pillows, looks skyward. “Yeah. My place is... it’s a pit right now. Like, if my dad saw it he’d...” He trails off, seems to catch himself. When he speaks again, his tone’s more measured, more controlled. “Since my injury, it’s been harder to do certain things. Some things are getting easier, but other things I’ve let go. It’ll get there. It’s just not there right now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael takes a few breaths, looks at Alex. “If you wanted, we could go there, together. I could help.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “No. You don’t need to do that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to, though.” He licks his lips. “Wanna help you. But only if you want me to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael watches Alex carefully. He actually, actually seems to be considering it. “You know you don’t <em>have</em> to,” Alex says, very carefully. “There... there’s nothing you have to do with me, okay? Not even talking, right?” Michael’s frowning at him. “Dammit Michael,” Alex mutters. “Please tell me you know that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows. “Unless you approach me as Intelligence Officer Alexander Manes and give me a direct command to ensure my safety or the safety of, um, others, I don’t have to do anything you say.” His jaw tightens. “But now it’s your turn to tell me that you know there are things I just... just <em>want</em> to do with you. For the hell of it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex still looks suspicious. Michael changes strategies. “If it was me. Or Liz. If one of us was, was sick, or hurt, and you thought you could lend a hand with a few things, would you? If we were open to it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex gives a wry half smile, shakes his head a bit. “I’ll call us a ride.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This?” Michael asks, looking around. “This is what you consider a pit?” He turnsaround, cocks a disbelieving eyebrow. “Alex, man... come on. Like, I’m pretty sure you and I have seen some actual fucking pits.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex laughs a little at that. “Yeah, well...” his face falls a little. “It’s not my usual standards.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael wants to ask about Alex’s usual standards. For a lot of things. Because he remembers, maybe too well, what 18 year old Alex liked - how he wore his hair, played his guitar, did that thing with his tongue. And his fingers...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks away quickly. “Movie?” He asks. “Or show?” He smiles. “Please tell me you’ve finally watched <em>Codename: Altair</em>?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex laughs a little as he sits down on the small couch - it’s more of an oversized chair, really. “You really think that’s the best choice for a guy that just got his leg crushed in the line of duty?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s face falls. “Oh shit, never mind, we can watch whatever -“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Alex interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’ve seen all the episodes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael grins. “Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex says. “There’s this guy I know, told me the main character reminded him of me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “You remember that, huh?” Alex nods, and it emboldens Michael. “Then... guess you also remember that guy telling you that you were hotter than the main character, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex glances away, quickly. Runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. The way Michael likes. “Uh... that was a while ago, and I’ll let you in on a secret. Guy’s kind of an ass.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? Who?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jelman Tandor.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “Wait, you’ve met him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not, not me personally, but before they started filming, the production got permission for Jelman Tandor to shadow an officer for a day or two. Not in my department, but, you know, it was a big deal. Apparently he was really, like, aloof.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, damn. Kind of ruins the magic.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “Yeah, well...” His face almost looks a little sad. “If they were going for realism, then most episodes would just be him doing paperwork and going to meetings. But it’s entertainment, so, you know, it’s all taking down bad guys and saving the day.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doesn’t sound <em>so</em> unrealistic,” Michael says, holding Alex’s gaze. “It’s what you did for me. For Max and Isobel. Plenty of others.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s face has gone dark, at that. “Yeah, well, those days are gone,” he says, bitterly. “No way I’m back in the field after this,” he says, gesturing to his leg. “Desk duty from now till eternity.” He looks away. Shrugs. “Anyway. Let’s work on the laundry first.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It actually feels really, really damn good to do this for Alex. <em>With</em> Alex.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s fun, too. Alex puts on the shitty Earth music he’d listened to in high school, and Michael teases him about it now the way he did back then. Alex tells stories, tame ones, about his job. Michael tells stories about the crazy shit he’s found on seized ships. They talk about how crazy the latest season of<em> Codename: Altair</em> was.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hours fly by without them even realizing. Alex turns on an Earth comedy, and they order a pizza.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s nice. It’s <em>normal</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eating his slice of mushroom pizza, because, yeah, Alex fucking remembered his favorite pizza topping. It warms something in him, that there’s someone in this universe who isn’t Isobel or Max that knows a detail like this about Michael. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael Guerin. Not Robert Worth.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This was nice, today,” Michael says softly, half afraid he’ll break the spell by saying it aloud. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kind of wish I didn’t have to go back tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hears Alex exhale a long, slow breath. He says nothing, though, and they lapse into silence. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sighs, a little frustrated. Redirects his gaze to the screen. “Never seen this before.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at him sharply. “What? Yes, you have.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bullshit. When?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip a little. “Senior year? Liz’s house? After the meteor shower?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s eyes widen. “Oh shit.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When Rosa fuckin’ caught us in the - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex says quickly, cutting him off.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, damn,” Michael says, remembering in his mind the way they’d scrambled to get dressed, mitigate any damage, and the way Rosa had just laughed and laughed. “I, um... there’s a difference between something being on, like, in the background, and actually watching it.” Michael frowns. “Were you watching it? While we - ?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no,” Alex says hastily. “I do remember it was on, though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Okay.” Talking about this. Like this. It, it’s changed the energy between them. On this small couch. In this small apartment. “You know, Alex. What you said yesterday. It’s not just you.” Alex is staring at him, waiting for clarification. “You know how you found me.” Michael scoffs a little. “Hell, you probably know more about what he did to me than I do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s brow furrows. “What? What is it you think I know, exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks down. “It’s just. The mind warrant you got. On Noah. I mean, there was the shit that came out in the trial. And... fuck.” He has to stop, take a breath. “Isobel’s testimony. I... I can never unhear that, you know? The shit he did to her. Was doing all along.” Michael swallows. “I’m sure you’ve read all about what he did to me, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks stricken. “I... no. I was off the case. Immediately. Soon as we were boarded. I mean, I was at the trial, you know that. I know what Isobel said at the trial, and the findings they made public from Noah’s mind warrant, but other than that... no, Michael.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods. Feels something in him uncoil, by degrees. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is peering at him cautiously. “You ever see anyone about it? Zilthin mind healer? Counselor?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head quickly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex frowns. “I know I complain about it. Therapy. But, it really does help. Like even just with all the shit from before you left,” he swallows quickly, “um, from before the attack in Earth. Like, stuff with my dad, even.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael isn’t looking at Alex. Can’t. “I’m not like you Alex. Not, not brave like you. And Isobel.” He shakes his head. “I just, I just can’t get into it. I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Alex says sharply. “Hey. It’s, it’s up to you what you do. But you <em>are</em> brave, Michael. Of course you are. You took care of your family, all those years. You, you saved me on Quelnin, and in the ship. You’re <em>brave</em>, Michael. To me, you are. Always have been.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex swallows, then. “And, um, thank you. For today. My job... my whole life, really, it’s isolating.  Makes it so I can’t really get close to people, and after the injury, all the downtime... Well. It’s been extra hard.” He shrugs. “This was just really nice. Watching a movie. Eating pizza.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I liked it too,” Michael says, almost shyly. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime, even if it’s just over video chat. Would... would that be okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex smiles. It’s not a big smile, but god, it’s there and it’s <em>real</em>. Michael hasn’t seen Alex smile like that since Earth. <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“More than okay.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Call it quits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael visits with Isobel and decides to speak to a professional.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please see updated tags. This contains a depiction of (futuristic) therapy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel rolls her eyes. “How was your trip to Medela?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was good,” Michael says, retrieving a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good as in... the hotel was nice and you got all the ship parts you needed? Or good as in you spent some time with a handsome intelligence officer who’s had a thing for you for over a decade?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s not sure what Isobel must see in his face, but she drops her teasing tone immediately. “Michael,” she says, worried, “what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He crosses to the living area, all done up in creams and neutrals. Isobel follows him. She’s a chameleon, always has been. Followed Earth fashions closely as they were growing up, then during the years on Torno it was all black leather, heavy makeup... Michael wonders how much of that was really Isobel and how much was Noah. How... direct his influence was. Since moving to Embria, Isobel’s adopted a different look - billowing linen caftans, oversized necklaces... she looks like a different woman, and Michael supposes that’s the point.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel sits down across from him, where he can’t avoid that penetrating gaze of hers. Michael takes a sip of water, begins speaking. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So... as soon as I agreed to the Medela trip, I started messaging Alex about it, trying to arrange a meet up.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel quirks an eyebrow. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well, he kind of shut down the whole idea, right? Kept saying he was too busy with work and stuff.” Isobel frowns. “So I went out. In the evenings. To bars around his office, just hoping to run into him.” He sighs. “But instead, I ran into Liz Ortecho, of all people.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dear god,” Isobel mutters, looking skyward. “Seriously?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes. “Max know yet?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Do I even want to know if she asked about him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”She did,” Michael says. “But she also let me know, um...” It’s hard, still, to think about. Talk about. “Alex was hurt really badly a few months ago. Lost part of his leg.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, Michael, that’s awful.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He looks down. “I did end up meeting up with him. Kind of tricked him into it, actually. But it... it was really nice. We just kind of hung out. I think we’re gonna try to make it like a regular thing, over video.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel’s quiet. “I’m glad you got to see him. I feel like there’s more to this, though.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows another mouthful of water. “Yeah. I dunno...seeing him again, like, without a huge Federation trial hanging over our heads. It just, just reminded me. About who I was before we had to leave Earth. Who... who he made me want to be.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh Michael,” Isobel murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’d you do it, Iz?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him in confusion.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The trial,” he says. “The mental deposition. All, all your meetings since, with your Zilthin mind healer.” He shakes his head. “Like how the <em>hell</em> do you do it? Just, just the thought of someone getting in my head again...” He rakes a hand over his face, looks away.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel’s watching him, he can tell. “It’s different for everyone,” she finally says, voice low. “For me, I just... I <em>had</em> to know. Had to know what he did. Everything. All the details. I just <em>knew</em> I couldn’t rest until I had those memories back.” Her eyes have taken on a hard look. “It would have eaten away at me from the inside if I hadn’t pursued it. And then I used it,” she says with a shrug. “Took him the fuck down. And that felt good,” she says, matter-of-fact, “but it still doesn’t change what he did. All the fucking pieces I’m still picking up. Putting back together.” She purses her lips. “That’s what I do, with Rai. They’re my, my guide, I guess. My guide back to me. The real me.” She looks thoughtful. “The me I should have been all along.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s quiet, just looking at her, her beautiful, fierce face.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want them to. Therapy, it’s not like that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gives his head a small shake. “I, I believe you. I do, but...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels... ashamed. “I, I’ve just gotten so good at hiding, I think. Burying myself in work, exhausting myself with it so I just... just don’t think. Don’t feel.” He closes his eyes. “But the further I get from all the shit that happened, and the closer I maybe get to... something else, something different, I just...” He trails off. “I wanna be good for someone, Iz.” He shakes his head. “Good for you, good for Max... good for Alex.” He swallows. “And good for me, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel stares at him for a long time. Without a word, she gets up, comes back with a slip of paper. Presses it into Michael’s palm and keeps her hand clasped around his. “That’s Rai’s contact information. Make an appointment.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael knows he shouldn’t think this way, but Zilthins kind of freak him out. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ever since Noah, the idea of being around anyone with telepathic abilities (other than Isobel) gives him a cold knot of dread in his stomach. It’s fear, Michael knows, though he hates to acknowledge it as that.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Zilthin sitting across from him isn’t Rai. When he’d mentioned that “Sarah Peters” had referred him, he’d been informed that he would have an intake with a different therapist, Hik.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Like all Zilthins Michael’s ever seen, Hik is striking. Large opalescent eyes, glossy black hair, a bluish tint to their skin.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How does this work, exactly?” Michael asks, uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Hik says, leaning back in their chair, “when someone new comes to see me, I like to start by talking about why. Why have you come? Why now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael raises an eyebrow. “Can’t you just figure that out yourself?” Hik frowns. “You know,” Michael clarifies, tapping the side of his head, “get in here and poke around?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their frown deepens. “Robert,” they say, voice low and serious, “that is not how this works.” Hik studies him. “Have you ever worked with a Zilthin mind healer before?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Michael says quickly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hik bites their lip a bit. Frowns. “I read that you are Antarian. Where did you grow up?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It should be an easy question to answer, but Michael knows that, if he discloses this, it gives Hik quite a bit of information - that he’s likely a refugee, given his age. That he may or may not have been caught up in the Antarian attack.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Earth,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sees the flash of recognition in Hik’s eyes, the slight nod of the head. “Ah. Is it fair to say that you did not have much contact with your people? Much instruction with your gifts?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael snorts a little at that. “Yeah, that’s fair to say.” He pauses. “I did, did grow up with two other Antarians. We’re still close, think of each other as family. They’re really all I knew of Antar, before the attack.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hik looks thoughtful. “For folks who come to me without ever really having interacted with a telepath, I like to give them some information. There are a lot of misconceptions about Zilthins.” They look at Michael. “Antarians, too. But unlike on Antar, everyone on Zilthin typically has some telepathic abilities. We’ve crafted our whole culture around it. There are strict rules in place about mental autonomy. On Zilthin, and certainly here, it would be a grave violation for me to ever enter your mind without your permission. Do you understand?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows hard. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hik nods. “Alright.” They settle in the chair, peer at Michael. “What brings you to see me today?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael can’t get comfortable. The chair feels too small, Hik’s gaze feels too piercing. “This is confidential, right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hik nods quickly. “Yes, of course. As the intake message stated, the only reason I would have to break confidentiality would be if I thought you were a serious, immediate threat to yourself or others.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Michael mutters. “Then I have a story for you...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Michael finally finishes, Hik is silent. Unmoving. Michael hasn’t seen many Zilthins, but even he can tell that they are upset.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“From one being to another,” Hik finally says, “I am sorry this happened to you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am sorry that you had to experience so much pain, and at such an early age. You have been betrayed in awful ways,” Hik says. “But you are here now, sitting in my office, telling me about this, when I imagine every instinct is telling you to keep this shut down.” Michael looks away, feeling overexposed. “Why see me? Why now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to be better,” Michael blurts, not sure himself where the words come from. “I just, god, I’ve tried to just, like you said, shut this down. But, but I think it’s shutting <em>all</em> of me down - not just the bad parts I don’t want to think about, but the good parts, too. All of it. All of <em>me</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael blows out a breath. “And... and there’s Alex. The guy I told you about. The one who rescued us.” Hik nods. “He, well, he was hurt. Recently. Really badly. But even though he’s hurt, he’s working so hard, like with his physical therapy and going to counseling and stuff. And,” he swallows, “and I really care about him, and I kind of feel like, if he’s working so hard, maybe I should try, too. See if it can’t help.” He’s quiet. “It helped my sister. And the shit her husband did to her was way worse than anything I can remember him doing to me. So.” He shrugs. “Here I am.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s very brave.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head. “Don’t, please don’t say that. If I was really brave, I’d have done a mind deposition and testified, like she did. I’d have helped her take that bastard down.” Michael looks down at the floor. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hik is quiet. “Is that the sort of thing you’ve been telling yourself? Since all this happened?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods his head, miserable. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then I am very glad you are here,” Hik says solemnly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great,” Michael says wryly. He looks at Hik for a moment. Looks down. “Um, before I do this. With you. I just, I just really don’t want to do any mind stuff yet, okay? Like, is that alright?” Michael looks to Hik for confirmation. “I know Iz said it helped her a lot, and Alex has mentioned it too, but honestly, like, why would I even want to go there? Why open that door? The shit I <em>do</em> remember is bad enough.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Robert,” Hik says, very serious. “So much has happened to you. So much trauma. There is plenty to work on just like this,” they say, gesturing between them, “without ever entering your mind.It is your choice. <em>Always</em> your choice, Robert. Do you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Michael says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” says Hik. “Then let’s begin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s five in a row!” Alex crows, looking happy and maybe a little cocky. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You really think this is fair, Manes?” Michael says as he removes his VR goggles and gloves. “You’re a fucking spy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Intelligence officer,” Alex corrects with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever. You’re actually trained and paid to do this kind of shit. We’re playing on cooperative mode next time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Alex agrees. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael wouldn’t say it to Alex directly, but he’s glad to see him like this. Relaxed. Having fun.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve been doing this at least once a week since Michael’s trip to Medela a few months ago. Alex is still on medical leave, so his schedule’s been flexible. And Alex doesn’t know it, but Michael’s scaled back his hours too, at the hangar. Gives him more time for other things. Like therapy. Like <em>dealing</em> with therapy. Its still weird sometimes to not just be working all the time. To gradually, gradually feel comfortable enough to be alone with his thoughts for any length of time without filling the space with something, <em>anything</em> else.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’s ready to let Alex know about it. Usually after they get done with a game they chat a little, grab a snack. “Something I wanna tell you,” Michael says casually.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? There’s actually something I wanted to mention to you, too.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Intrigued, Michael nods. “Cool.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You first, though,” Alex says quickly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows. “Um, remember our talk at your apartment, right before I had to leave Medela?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” Michael says. “Well, I wanted to let you know that I’ve started seeing someone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex freezes. Swallows. “Oh?” he says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. They’re Zilthin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s brow furrows. “Really? That’s, um... I mean I’m happy for you. Just, um a little surprised, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael snorts a little. “Yeah man, so am I. But talking to you sort of gave me the push I needed, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex... doesn’t look happy. His mouth is twisting around, and he’s avoiding Michael’s eyes. “This... this the first person you’ve seen since, since everything?” Alex closes his eyes. “No, nevermind, none of my - “</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex?” Michael asks. “What’s going on? I thought you’d be glad to hear I’m finally getting some help with all my shit.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Help?” Alex repeats, then his eyes go wide. “Wait, do you mean you’re seeing a mind healer? Like for counseling?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes! That’s what I just...” He stops. Realizes. “Oh my god. Shit, Alex,” he mutters. “Yeah. Hik’s my therapist. They’re a Zilthin mind healer. I’m not,” he stammers, “not <em>seeing</em> anyone, like romantically.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip a little. “Well, um, that’s good.” He closes his eyes. “I mean, not <em>good</em>, but, um...” Shakes his head. When he finally looks at Michael again, there’s a little half-smile on his face. “That’s a really big step, seeing someone. I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael feels grateful for the conversation shift. “Yeah. We’re not, not doing any direct mind stuff, and it’s definitely tough sometimes, but I feel like it’s good to talk to somebody about everything. Somebody who isn’t connected to it at all, you know?” Michael shrugs. “Iz, Max, you. You’re all too close to it, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex blows out a shaky breath. “Oh believe me, I know.” They’re quiet for a moment before Alex clears his throat. “Um, so, the thing I wanted to tell you...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael nods expectantly. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex seems nervous. “So, I have some leave saved up. And Federation day is next month, so all my outpatient therapies are off that day, and I was thinking maybe I’d visit Embria.” He pauses. “If, if that’s okay with you, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You kidding?” Michael exclaims, not even trying to contain his smile. “That would be great!” He laughs. “You can kick my ass in person,” he says, dangling a VR glove in front of the camera. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is smiling too. “Good. That’s good. I’m hoping to book some stuff this week. The shuttle, accommodations...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Michael asks. “Alex, if you want, you can stay here. I have a guest room, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stares at him. “You’d really be okay with that?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d really, <em>really</em> be okay with that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins. “Then I’ll see you in a month.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael turns to Isobel to help prepare for Alex’s upcoming visit and has a discussion with Max.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a month, Isobel.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrows her eyes. “What? What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was talking to Alex last night - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel arches an eyebrow. “Talking, were you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The comment deflates Michael a bit. “Yeah, Iz.” He looks away for a moment. “It’s tough, with him and me. With that. We’re not 17 anymore. Lots of water under that bridge.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel’s face goes hard as she nods her understanding. “I’m sorry,” she says tightly. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s visiting. Here. In a month. He’s gonna stay with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel’s eyes have gone wide.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And that’s why I need your help,” Michael continues. “You’ve seen my guest room.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your storage space, you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s mouth quirks up into a half-smile. He’s honestly grateful she’s not pushing super hard on Alex right now. “Yeah. Figured you could help me get it ready before he gets here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel smiles, big and genuine. “I’d like nothing more. Wait here,” she says, crossing quickly to her office. She emerges a moment later with a slim notebook. “Alright,” she says. “Sit.” He does. “Tell me your vision.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Vision?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm hmm,” she murmurs, looking at him expectantly. “What do you want the room to...” she makes a vague little gesture with her hands, “convey?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s thoughtful. “Safety,” he finally says. “Want it to feel... safe. Peaceful. Want everything to be accessible, with his leg. I just... I don’t want him to worry about anything. Want him to feel at ease.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Isobel is watching him with big eyes. She clears her throat. “Um, I was expecting something more along the lines of, like, ‘coastal vibes’ or ‘Rinkon modern,’ but, um, this works,” she says, finally writing something in her notebook. “Safe and peaceful,” she repeats, half to herself, then pauses. Looks at Michael. “Something tells me if he’s here with you, he’s going to feel that way no matter what the damn room looks like.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows nervously as he knocks on Max’s door. He’s been dreading this conversation. For all he knows, Isobel’s already told him about Alex’s impending visit, but Michael knows he still needs to mention it himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After only two knocks, Max swings the door open, as if he’s been waiting for Michael. Maybe he has been.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Max,” Michael says, nodding as he ducks into the doorway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max frowns, closes the door. “You should really start calling me Tim. If we keep using the old names, we’re gonna slip up.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at Max. “That what you want? Across the board?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max nods, a tight little motion.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Michael says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Michael wants to block out the past, and Isobel wants to remember it, then Max wants to pretend it never happened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is why Alex’s visit is not going to land well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max was never particularly fond of Alex, even in high school. Michael knows it stemmed from a protective place - Alex’s dad had been a dick, and Max didn’t want Michael in the crosshairs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There are other guys, Michael,” he’d said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t want other guys,” Michael had insisted. “We live in a fucking group home, Max. How would you feel if Liz dumped your ass just because of some family you did or didn’t have?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d gotten closer on Torno. Despite how far-reaching Noah’s business was, the world Max and Michael inhabited was surprisingly small - Michael working on ships all day, Max unloading cargo, taking inventory.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or so they’d thought.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah had hurt them all. Used them all in different ways. Michael’d been sitting next to Max when Isobel had testified, had seen his breakdown, his utter shock and horror. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things hadn’t been the same, since then. Michael doesn’t think things will ever be the same.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max is eyeing Michael warily. “Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael tries to look reassuring. “Yeah. Need to tell you something is all.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. He looks down, “I, um, I’ve kept up with Alex Manes. These last few years. And he’s gonna visit. In two weeks.” He pauses. “Iz already knows. She’s helping me get a room ready for him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max closes his eyes briefly, looks away. “Okay,” he finally says, voice tight. He stares at Michael, almost challenging.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael raises his eyebrows. “That’s it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max huffs out a breath. “You know it’s not. But, but it doesn’t matter what I think. You’ll just do what you want anyway.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s quiet. Frowning. “He... he’s a good guy, Max.” A pause. “I really like him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max sits down heavily in an armchair, brings a hand up to massage the worry lines on his forehead. “I... god, Michael, I know that. Know you like him.” Eyes him. “Know it’s more than that, with the two of you. Always has been. That’s not my issue with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s jaw twitches. “Then what is your issue with it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max slumps in his seat. “I just want us to be safe, Michael. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’ve never, I’ve never... fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Michael sits down then, too. Because Max is crying. “Max?” he says, voice small, before remembering. “Um, Tim?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that pulls an even bigger sob out of Max. He’s avoiding Michael’s eyes, just shaking his head. “I failed you, Michael. I failed you, I failed Iz. God, the things he did to both of you...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He did shit to all of us!” Michael hisses. “Including you! That’s on him, not you, do you get that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t even question it. I was just so glad we were all okay, after...” he trails off, and fixes Michael with a look that’s so very painful. “After Sector 8,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “But we weren’t really okay, were we?” He shakes his head. “We’d have died there in Sector 8 if not for you, if you hadn’t...” and his voice does break, then. “I didn’t know. And I never asked, later. I’m so sorry, Michael.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing to be sorry about.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes there is!” Max says, insistent. “You were different, after, and I knew shit was wrong, but I just... god, it was just easier. Easier not to say anything and just pretend like we were safe and fine.” He looks skyward. “You know, I thought it was like, a permanent side effect. Of the Gonchan Flu.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? You thought what was?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max is looking right at him, now. “The missing time. The way I’d feel so... so off, and sick, after. But, like, stronger, too. Depending.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael swallows, hard. “You didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I didn’t. Fuckin’ know now, though. Still trying to figure out how to live with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re silent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max clears his throat, finally. Shrugs. “And I can see myself doing it now, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at him sharply. “Doing what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max frowns at him. “Wanting this to be easy. The way I wanted things to be easy on Torno.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stares at him, confused. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This, this second chance we have. This safety. We get to just be normal. No one knows us here. We can be... whoever we want. We can be safe. With Alex...” He looks at Michael pleadingly. “He’s had a dangerous life. So have we. You increase your chances of being found out if, if the wrong person sees you two together.” Max’s voice goes low. “Back, three years ago, soon as they got Iz and I out of there and let us see you again, you told me. Told me what Noah said to you. That he had contacts, that they’d come after us.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max runs a hand through his hair. “And I know we’ve already made ourselves a bigger target, by settling here on Embria all together. The three of us. Always justified it by thinking we could look out for each other, but I still worry. And now, adding another person in...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael is silent for a long time, complicated emotions running through him. “What would you have me do, Max? With Alex?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max sighs. “Like I said, you’re going to do what you’re going to do. You love him. I know, know you wouldn’t risk us if you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not risking us.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you are,” Max says sadly. “The video calls to and from Medela - I’m sure you guys are using secure lines, but if the wrong person knows, that won’t stop them. And now, he’s planning to actually come here. In person. Stay at your house. I’m sure you’re gonna want to show him around. I mean, look what happened on Medela, with you going out, trying to find him and - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You knew about that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max nods. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then you know who I saw.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max looks away from him, so fast. “I <em>know</em>, Michael. I know.” He’s biting his lip, but it’s not helping. When he looks back at Michael, it’s with big, tear-bright eyes. “And that’s why I’m not mad about this. Why I can’t be mad. It’s how I know you’re gonna do whatever you can to have him in your life. Because it’s what I’d do for her.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alex prepares to visit Michael on Embria.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Everything okay?”</p><p>“Huh?” Michael asks, blinking.</p><p>Alex is frowning at him.  “Everything okay with you?” He purses his lips. “You seem a little… little off today, is all.”</p><p>Michael shrugs a shoulder.  “Maybe I’m just tired of losing to you every damn time we play this.”</p><p>Alex’s shoulders slump.  “We’ve been playing on cooperative mode, Michael.  Like you wanted.” He pushes up his VR goggles.  “This about next weekend?” he asks, voice soft. “Cause…cause if you’d rather I not come, I can cancel, it’s really no big – “</p><p>“No,” Michael says quickly. Leans toward the camera, says it again.  “No. I want you here.  Wanna see you.”</p><p>“Okay,” Alex says uncertainly. “But there <em>is </em>something.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Michael admits. He’s quiet a moment, trying to figure out how to say it.  “I talked to Max the other day.”</p><p>Alex leans back on his couch a little, nods to himself.  “I see.” He sighs.  “Max say something?”</p><p>“He said a lot of somethings.”</p><p>“I’m sure he did,” Alex mutters.  “Max was always good for that.”</p><p>Michael’s wondering if Alex is remembering high school Max, the way he’d never quite warmed to Alex. “Thing is, there’s some stuff he said that… well, it’s not like we’ve ever talked about.”</p><p>“We?  Like in you and me?”</p><p>Michael nods.</p><p>“Shit,” Alex mutters.  Pulls his goggles all the way off his head now.  “What sort of stuff?”</p><p>“Just, like, safety stuff.” Michael’s brow furrows.  “I’ve… I’ve got a big ass blind spot when it comes to you, Alex.  Since everything with the trial, I’ve been super cautious.  Changed my hair and clothes, try to sort of mix up my routines from time to time, but… but when it comes to you… god, even on the ship, it was like I saw you and totally forgot about everyone else.” Michael’s eyes widen when he realizes what he’s just said.  “Shit.  I don’t mean to, like, freak you out with this.”</p><p>Alex is staring at him.  “I… it doesn’t freak me out.  I actually, actually think I know exactly what you mean. Because it happens to me with you.” He looks down.  “I mean, look what happened when we got off Quelnin.  Think my coworkers thought I’d lost my damn mind.” He laughs a little. “Actually… actually, no, I think they were maybe a little relieved.  I, I was always so by the book, always went so hard with everything.  I don’t think they could believe there was anyone in my life I cared about like I cared for you…”</p><p>Michael has trouble holding eye contact when Alex is saying shit like that.  It’s too raw, too close to being something… more.  And… and he think he might want more.  But if that’s going to happen, it’s going to happen when Alex is here, in his space.  When they have some time. “We’re being careful, right?” he asks, serious.  “Like, with security shit.  Like, I’ve always taken it for granted that you, the special agent – “</p><p>“Intelligence officer.”</p><p>“The <em>professional</em>,” he says with a smirk, “that you keep these conversations, like, locked down. Our texts, too.”</p><p>Alex looks a little hurt.  “I mean, yeah, of <em>course</em>.”</p><p>“Nah, I know, it’s just… Max is worried.  About how often we talk, about you coming here.”</p><p>“Max never liked me,” Alex says flatly.</p><p>Michael can’t deny it.  “He’s worried,” he repeats.  “And he’s always just wanted to keep all of us safe. Which obviously didn’t happen.  So he’s extra touchy about it now.  And, like, he’s not wrong, you know?” Michael sniffs a little.  “The wrong person spots you and me together?  Like, walking around?  Getting… getting fucking ice cream or something?” And god, does he want that.  Wants to walk around with Alex.  Wants to get fucking ice cream. Wants to watch Alex lick it down to the cone…</p><p>Alex looks very serious. Very serious and very sad. “He’s not wrong,” he finally says. “I… I wanna say that I’d never put you at risk, but… but that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He rakes a hand over his face. “This… this might have been a bad idea.”</p><p>Michael frowns.  “No.  It’s not a bad idea. I don’t think it’s that clear cut.  If it was, like, absolutely bad we wouldn’t be doing it, I don’t think.  Wouldn’t even consider it.  But I think we should at least talk about it.  The risks.”  He exhales.  “They’re worth it, to me.”</p><p>Alex looks up sharply.  “Are they?  Are they <em>really</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah.  They are.”</p><p>Alex breathes a few times, just looking at Michael.  “What do you want, Michael?  This weekend? I… we don’t even have to leave your place, if it doesn’t feel safe to us.  We could just… just play games and eat fuckin’ pizza and… and…” Alex stops, shakes his head. “What do <em>you </em>want, Michael?”</p><p>“Want you here,” he says.  Simple. It <em>is </em>what he wants, what he said at the beginning of their conversation.  It’s what he wants, even though he knows it’s a risk.  To his safety. To his heart.</p><p>“Then I’ll be there.”</p><p>***</p><p>They agreed that Alex would get a ride from the spaceport to Michael’s place.  Minimize the chances of anyone seeing them together.</p><p>He’s nervous, so fucking nervous.  He’s, he’s never hosted anybody, let alone someone he really, really likes.  Isobel’s worked a minor miracle with the guest room – it looks perfect for Alex.  In the days leading up to Alex’s arrival, Michael’s found himself just sitting in here, just enjoying the way it makes him feel closer, somehow, to Alex.</p><p>And then, so suddenly, Alex is texting, and there’s a knock on his door, and Alex is <em>here</em> – breathing the same air, sharing the same space.</p><p>“Alex,” Michael breathes, looking to him for a quick nod of approval before launching himself into his space, giving him a big, real hug.</p><p>Alex seems caught off guard for a moment, or perhaps off balance, but he’s quickly leaning into the contact, gripping Michael tightly around the shoulders and neck.  Michael allows himself a second or two before pulling back.  “So glad you’re here.”</p><p>“Me too,” Alex says, voice warm. </p><p>Michael takes him in.  He looks better than the last time he saw him in person, on Medela.  Stronger.  Healthier.  He’s dressed well, too – tight t-shirt and jeans, dark jacket.  Hat pulled low over his eyes.  Michael wonders if this is for him of if it’s, like, a disguise? Maybe a bit of both.  Though if he’s honest, Alex dressed like <em>this </em>certainly doesn’t fly under <em>his </em>radar.  Quite the opposite…</p><p>“You look good,” he says.  Alex looks down, and Michael doesn’t miss the way he bites his lip a little, the way his cheeks color. Michael grabs the bag Alex dropped on the floor during their hug.  “I’ll show you around,” he says. “You, you can see most of my place just from here,” he says, gesturing around.  “And, like, help yourself.  Fridge is stocked. Hopefully, um, hopefully you still like strawberries. They’re in season here, and I probably bought too many, but I thought…”</p><p>Alex smiles.  “I love strawberries.  Thanks.”</p><p>Michael swallows.  “Cool, cool.” He gestures to the far corner of the room.  “Guest room is right over here.” He walks over, opens the door.</p><p>“Wow,” Alex says, pleased.  “Michael, this is really nice.”</p><p>“It’s… Isobel helped a lot.  She’s good with stuff like that.”</p><p>“Holy shit,” Alex murmurs. “Is that – “</p><p>Michael smiles.  “Yeah.  The ocean.  Not… not quite like Earth’s.  Less salt, but…”</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Alex says.  “Always heard the beaches on Embria were beautiful, but this is really something.”</p><p>“View’s even better from my room,” Michael says.  “I’ve got a little deck, too, off my room.” Isobel had helped him with that, too.  Michael had thought it unnecessary, but was so very grateful now, seeing Alex’s look of interest. And suddenly he has all sorts of ideas going through his head, of… of watching the fucking sun set, the moons rise, all with Alex right next to him in the two new chairs Isobel had just bought and painted. He, he needs to thank her. “Um,” he clears his throat, “why don’t we sit out there now? Catch up a little?  I’ve got a few seats out there.  I can get you a drink?”</p><p>Alex nods a little, smiles.  “That would be great.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Embria is known for its sunsets, and Michael and Alex enjoy one together.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael feels like something might happen soon, with Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as Alex proposed the trip, Michaelthought something might happen. Has tried not to get his hopes up for it, especially after Medela, after Alex had confessed how he had been feeling about himself, about his injury.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve danced around the attraction in every interaction they’ve had since Quelnin, it seems. At times, it’s lingering far in the background, but now and again it’s front and center.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Like it is right now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re sitting on Michael’s little deck. It’s day three of Alex’s trip. With all the talk of risk, they’ve mostly stuck to the house, though they ventured out to the beach earlier today. Alex wore a big hat and sunglasses when they did - it was hard to really see his face, and Michael supposes that was the point. Yesterday, it rained, so they watched movies, got food delivered, played video games. Bid each other a goodnight that felt awfully stilted, to Michael. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now it’s sunset. They’ve got a little bowl of strawberries set up on a table between the two of them, and Michael is, once again, really fucking glad Isobel talked him into these two chairs, the little table. They’re drinking water, because Alex’s meds apparently don’t mix with alcohol. Michael feels stupid for not having thought of that in advance, for not knowing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a lot he still doesn’t know about Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, fuck, he wants to learn. Wants to study him, pour himself into it, the way he’d thrown himself into astrophysics, engineering, music back in school, back before violence and illness and desperation and deception had separated Michael from all his dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wants Alex. In every way. But he’s also so damn scared.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s talked of little else, with Hik. Hik always seems to gently lead him back to the same place - opening up. Talking to Alex. Communicating. And it’s so hard - it’s always hard. But about this? About this simmering tension between them, this frisson of attraction and desire?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are times it ramps up and Michael wants to welcome it. Act on it. Let his instincts lead and focus on nothing but Alex, here and now. Inevitably, though, memories intrude - of Alex, sometimes... their memorable moments, how different they both were, then. How young. How naive. But also... how less fucked up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then Michael will remember. Remember coming on to Alex in the ship, so calculated. Remember Noah, applauding his memory of Alex in La Jolla. And that usually quickly slides into remembering Noah himself. Other clients. Three wretched months that have left deep marks on him that he’s only now starting to sort through. Unpack.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs, glances at Alex when he thinks he might not be looking, and is startled to see him staring right at him. They both freeze, caught. It’s Alex that laughs a little, then, self-conscious. “It’s the middle of an Embrian sunset, but I’m looking at you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael... almost wants to let it go. Laugh it off, get up to get them more water, use the bathroom, <em>something</em>. But there are three days left on Alex’s trip, and he can tell those words were a gamble, for Alex. This has been building, and a part of him really does want to see where it could go... </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same,” he replies, so soft that Alex frowns a little, at first, as if he hasn’t heard him. “Same,” Michael repeats, stronger now, and Alex’s relieved little sigh emboldens him. He grabs for Alex’s hand, strokes the knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex grips back. Is looking right at him and god, right now, sitting down, in this light, looking like this - they could be in La Jolla right now. Eighteen and in love and - </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I... I think we need to talk about some things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael sighs, deeply, but doesn’t relax his grip. “You been talking to Hik?” he asks, voice light.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex knows all about Hik, at this point. Laughs a little. “Kai, actually.” And Michael knows all about Kai now, too - Alex’s long-term therapist and mind healer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’d Kai feel about you coming all the way to Embria to stay with your high school ex?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes widen. “You’re more than a high school ex and you know it, Michael.” He shakes his head a little. “They are helping me see that I deserve a life of my own. That I deserve to make decisions that are for me. Not just for my job or, or the good of the Federation. For <em>me</em>. That, that’s what this is.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re right, you know,” Michael says, giving Alex’s hand a squeeze. “You do deserve that.” He glances out to the horizon, the sun disappearing down to its last sliver. “Where do I fit in?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex exhales. Looks thoughtful. “I’m... really, really glad you’re in my life, Michael. To the point where it feels, feels selfish sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns, opens his mouth to reply, but Alex cuts him off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I told you in Medela, I’m not one hundred percent. Really... really fucking far from it, still. But...” He pauses. Seems to shore himself up. “But I really want you in my life, Michael. If it works for both of us. The fact that we found each other again? God, it feels...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cosmic,” Michael breathes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks at him sharply, almost bewildered. “You, you feel it too? Like, connected?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, yes,” Michael says, squeezing his hand for emphasis. “A whole universe and we found each other again through dumb chance. Just the fact we’re both still...” He glances at Alex’s leg. Swallows hard. “Still alive? That <em>means</em> something to me, Alex. I want you in my life, too. Like I told you in Medela, however that looks for us right now. You just, like, beating my ass over and over at your VR games.” Alex barks out a little laugh. “Or... or here at my place. Holding hands. Watching the goddamn sun set over the ocean.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sky’s getting darker, and it matches the whole feel of things right now, between them - hushed and serious. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not, not the kid you knew, Michael,” Alex whispers. “And I know we’ve talked about this, probably too much for your taste, but you owe me nothing. <em>Nothing</em>, okay? And you have this... this whole new life, on this beautiful planet. Like, you could be anyone, <em>anyone</em>, live any life you wanted, and - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alex,” Michael says, voice sharper than intended.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Every version of the life I want has you in it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alex and Michael spend the night together. And the morning.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, please be aware of the warnings. Some specific warnings so apply for this chapter. There is an explicit, consensual sexual encounter, and there are also mentions of past sex work as well as past non-consensual sex.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is stunned silent for a moment before he begins to chuckle.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns. “I... I’m serious, Alex.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks up, and Michael’s relieved to see such fondness there. Such warmth. “I know you are, Michael. Believe me, I know, but it still just, like, blows my mind when you say stuff like that, like it’s nothing, like it’s just, just off the fucking cuff for you.” He purses his lips. “That’s something that hasn’t changed. Since we were kids.” He looks down at their joined hands, rubs his thumb over Michael’s finger, a knuckle. “I want...” he starts. Falters.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael squeezes his hand. “What do you want, Alex?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks right at him. “Want to kiss you, Michael.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael begins to lean in, but stops as Alex pulls back, just a little.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But if we do that, it... god, it changes things. Opens certain doors.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael stares at Alex, takes in the tension in his face, and can’t help but bring a hand up to his clenched jaw, his sharp cheekbone. Alex exhales, shakily. Relaxes into Michael’s touch, and if Michael thought he was gone before...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Way I see it, we opened those doors when we were 17, and, and they never closed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex lets out a pained little sound. “God, I know. All those years after you left, I kept trying to wall off my feelings for you, pretend they weren’t still there. Couldn’t do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then don’t do it now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes are dark in the waning light as he pushes himself into Michael’s space. “I won’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re kissing on Michael’s bed, all their clothes still on, like the teenagers they were, once upon a time. It’s sloppy, open-mouthed. Progressing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s hands are underneath Michael’s t-shirt, fingers splayed wide against his back, pulling him closer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael hears the whine he makes, feels the arousal building, advances his own exploration of Alex - the muscles of his back, the swell of his ass, the strong line of his thigh...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stiffens, and Michael freezes. “Shit,” he mutters, pulling back quickly. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is breathing heavily. “Yeah. Yeah. Just... god, this got away from me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at him, concerned. “We... we don’t have to do anything, Alex.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes widen in comprehension. “Oh! No, no it’s not that.” He reaches out to give Michael’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “No, Michael, believe me, I want this. So much. I just, just didn’t think...” he swallows. “Honestly didn’t realize I could feel like this right now. Even with you.” He gives a half-smile. “You always seem to be the exception to my rules, you know?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The smile slides away, replaced with something sadder. “But, um... you’re a mechanic. So I should probably let you know a little more about my recent repairs,” he says wryly, glancing down at his leg. “They’re not the prettiest.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Michael says, resting a hand on Alex’s arm. “I’m just glad you’re still up and running, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex nods. Hesitates only a moment before unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down. “Worst part’s where it joins,” he says softly, tracing the puckered scar with his fingertip. “The new limb itself isn’t bad, you know? Looks fairly real, actually. And it’s bone anchored, so...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s looking at Alex’s leg with a mix of curiosity and... gratitude, honestly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t bend the same as, as a natural limb, and it looks a little different, but - “</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex lets out a startled gasp as Michael dips his head down, kisses the place where Alex’s own leg meets his new one. “It’s still you, Alex,” he says softly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex brings a hand down to rest gently on Michael’s head, in his hair. “You’re the only person who’s seen it. That isn’t, like, a medical provider, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael frowns a little. “It hurt?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs. “Yeah. Sometimes more than others. Like today was harder. In the sand.” He looks down. “And, um... I haven’t... well, I haven’t done anything, like, sexual. Yet. Since I’ve had it. And I think it might take a little time to figure out what works. What’s the most comfortable.” He sighs. “Don’t think we’re gonna be able to just, like, pick up where we left off when we were 18.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael hoists himself up a bit, brings his face back in line with Alex’s. “No. We’re not. For lots of reasons.” And here it is, something he’s thought about a lot. Gone over with Hik. Feared. He, he doesn’t think Alex will reject him on these grounds. If anything, that’s one of the many good things about the fact that it’s <em>Alex</em> he’s with. Alex, who <em>knows</em> - knows who he really is, knows at least some of the things that have happened to him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t been with anybody since Noah was arrested. That’s... that’s three years now. Finding out what he did? How he’d just, like, get in my mind? Make me do shit, poke around and get off on whatever memory he wanted?” Michael shakes his head. “Fucked me right up.” He frowns. “And even before that... well, I haven’t had sex sober since the last time I was with you. Before the attack. Out in the desert.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stills.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. “Honestly, even with this trip, I just kind of assumed that if it happened at all, we’d both be a few drinks deep, but, with your leg and everything...” Michael shakes his head. “Since Sector 8... just helps me get through it. And out of my own head, my own memories and shit.” Michael exhales. “God, just talking about it now makes me want a drink or something, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is looking at him, so serious. “Do you use stuff a lot?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not on Embria. I drink, sometimes, but not often, especially since I started up with Hik. Was happening more back on Torno.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is quiet. “I... I know a little about wanting to forget, too. I can’t imagine what it was like, in Sector 8. I’ve, I’ve heard stories, like with my job, and... and I wish that had never happened to you. And that Noah had never happened.” Alex swallows. “There’ve been a few jobs, though. Undercover assignments where...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You had to use all the tools at your disposal?” Michael supplies, quoting Alex’s own words back to him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never <em>all</em> of them,” Alex says carefully. “But a lot of them, yeah. More than I wanted.” He’s quiet. “I’ll never push you, Michael.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wouldn’t do that to you, either,” Michael says softly. “Maybe... maybe we just take this slow. Together. I don’t, don’t want to just, like, get through it. Not with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex slides closer to Michael. “Yeah,” he says, tilting his head up, an offering. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael kisses him, once, then turns so that his back is pressed up against Alex’s torso. “Mind if we’re just here like this? For tonight?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he feels Alex press into him, feels his breath on his neck. “Don’t mind at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael is surprised to actually see sunlight peeking around the edges of the curtains in his room. His sleep is usually fitful, interrupted, but last night...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a sudden realization, he rolls over, takes in the scene. Alex is still sleeping, face looking more peaceful than Michael’s seen it in... in over a decade, really. It’s warm on Embria, this time of year. Humid. He and Alex slept shirtless, and Michael sees the dark “M” inked on Alex’s shoulder blade. He wants to trace it with his finger, his tongue, his teeth, even...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He should get up, get coffee brewing, get breakfast going. Because he wants to impress Alex, dammit. It’s not... not going to happen in the bedroom, not right away, but... but there are other ways to take care of Alex, he knows. That’s what he wants, so much.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he finds the thing he wants even more, this morning, is to just be here in this bed, close to Alex, close enough to feel the heat of his body. He wants to just look at him, commit this to memory.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He needs new memories of Alex, memories that are theirs alone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And isn’t Hik telling him to focus on the present moment? To really notice it, accept it? He looks over at Alex and, god, if there were more present moments like this one, wouldn’t that be a whole hell of a lot easier?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a good half hour before Alex starts stirring, and during that time, Michael drifts. Sometimes he’s right here in the bed, focusing on Alex, other times he’s in his head, trying to catch his thoughts when they go far afield, redirect them to nicer places, or at least his current place, which is pretty damn good.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm,” Alex finally says with a small stretch. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey yourself,” Michael replies.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex grants him a sleepy smile. “C’mere,” he says, holding his arms open.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael accepts the invitation, nestles right up against him. “How’d you sleep?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Better than usual,” Alex says. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same,” Michael replies.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your beds are comfortable.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a hundred percent Isobel,” Michael says with a shrug. “I swear that within, like, days of being here she knew exactly where to go for everything we needed - food, clothes,” he gestures around the room, “home decor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels Alex take a deep breath behind him. “How’s she doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine, I think. Hard to know sometimes, with Isobel. She’s... well, sometimes she’s a little too good at figuring out how to fit in, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think so.” Alex pauses. “And Max?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean Tim?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex makes a face. “God, yeah, sorry. He has a point about that, you know. It really is best if we use the new names all the time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You really gonna call me Robert?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex sighs. “Not unless I have to, you know? If we’re in public or, like, with official stuff.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael arches back against him. “You mean this isn’t official?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex groans. “Dammit...” He brings a hand down the line of Michael’s body to his hip bone. “I had to run all this past my supervisor, you know. That was fun,” he says sarcastically. “As was the mental debrief after Quelnin.” He sighs. “Everyone really has been good about it, though. It’s not, not like school was. Medela’s really open, and people are professional. I think, think some of the other folks in the department are rooting for us, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isobel is,” Michael says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex makes an assenting little grunt. “But not Tim.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s quiet for a moment. Thoughtful. “He’s had a harder time, I think, with all the changes. Not that he’d say so. I’m trying to get him to see someone, but I know better than anyone you can’t rush that shit. He worries a lot, about me and Isobel. Can’t really blame him, after everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Alex says softly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, since Medela, I’ve kind of wondered if some of it isn’t... I dunno, jealousy? That we get to have this but he doesn’t. With Liz.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s grip on Michael tightens. “She’s supposed to get married next spring.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael presses more fully against Alex. “Was there anyone serious? For you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex takes a few breaths. “Not for a while. Early on there was somebody, but with my job... I don’t think it ever would have worked, long-term.” He sighs. “And he wasn’t you. No one was.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael makes himself breathe, makes himself notice the way Alex feels, up against him - the way the backs of Michael’s legs prickle from the fine hair on Alex’s upper legs, the way his new limb feels cooler than his old one... the warmth and solidity of his chest, his arms... and the way his dick is beginning to harden against Michael’s low back. “You feel good,” he says, voice raspy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex brings his mouth close to Michael’s ear, pulls him in closer. “So do you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Experimentally, Michael pushes his ass back against him. It immediately pulls a groan from Alex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Michael,” he says, almost broken sounding. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This okay?” Michael whispers, beginning to move against Alex now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, yes. It’s, god, it’s good, it’s really good.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s hand is gently directing Michael’s face back, now, to the side, to Alex’s own waiting lips. The kiss deepens, their tongues moving in rhythm with the rest of their bodies, intensifying things.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex begins to kiss Michael’s cheekbone. His ear, his jaw. As his mouth moves to Michael’s neck, he trails a hand down Michael’s torso. Pushes past the waistband of Michael’s underwear, and now it’s Michael’s turn to groan as Alex takes him in hand.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This good?” Alex asks, voice gravelly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” And Michael <em>is</em> good, he really is in this moment. In the past, on Torno, one of the things that would take him out of it was the smell. He’d even told Hik about it, who’d assured him it wasn’t unusual. But here, with Alex - that’s one of the things that calms him, actually. Because he recognizes the smell of Alex, the taste of him, on some deep, instinctual level. And it feels safe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s panting now, continuing to grind his ass up against Alex’s erection. “You, you wanna do it? Just like this?” he asks, and for a moment he’s a little concerned that this will feel too, too juvenile to Alex. And that makes him feel embarrassed, suddenly. Ashamed that’s he’s done this... hundreds of times, in many more explicit ways, and doesn’t Alex deserve someone who can actually - </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh god yes,” Alex is muttering, right into Michael’s ear, and it refocuses him, brings him back. They’re both pushing their underwear down, out of the way, laughing a little as they have to pause to avoid getting hands stuck, legs tangled. Michael reaches out with his power to open the nightstand drawer, float the lube over.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex freezes, then chuckles. “I... I forgot how you used to always do that,” he murmurs, nipping at Michael’s earlobe as Michael passes him the lube. Alex’s next touch on Michael’s dick is so fucking good - slick and wet and perfect. Michael closes his eyes to the sensation and pushes back against Alex more forcefully, uses the momentum to fuck himself into Alex’s fist. He feels the way Alex thrusts back, the sounds he makes, and for the first time in... a very, very long time, Michael feels completely in the moment, with this. Connected. Grounded.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So deep in fucking love with Alex Manes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m, I’m close, Michael,” Alex whispers, right in his ear, chasing the words with open mouthed kisses down the side of Michael’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, me too,” Michael breathes. “Here,” he says, running his hand down Alex’s arm, past his wrist, to the hand that’s currently wrapped around his dick. “Let me,” he says, taking over from Alex in this final stretch, taking himself in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex pants, bringing his lube-slick hand to Michael’s hip. He pulls Michael flush to him and begins to thrust against him, harder than before.He feels how hard Alex is, against the back of his body, the lower curve of his ass, where he’s holding his legs tight together. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It okay if I...?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, go for it,” Michael says, rocking back against Alex as his movements intensify. And the sounds he makes, in that moment, spur Michael on too, past the tipping point. “I’m coming,” he bites out, feeling the warmth on his hand, his wrist. Alex actually, actually brings his hand back down to Michael’s then, to feel it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” he groans, and with that, Michael feels Alex’s release, too, feels the way Alex slumps against him, breathing heavily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re still for a long moment, just lying together. It’s Michael that moves first, twisting backwards to kiss Alex - slow at first, then deeper.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t say anything. He almost, almost can’t, he’s just so overwhelmed. With love, and relief... and he thinks Alex might actually feel the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a sigh, Michael finally rolls away a bit, assesses the state of the bed. “Think we’ll need to wash these,” he says.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex says with a little laugh. “You... you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael turns to face him, and he’s looking so earnest. So... damn hot, with his hair all messy, skin flushed. He drops a kiss on his shoulder. “I’m really good right now. Best in a while,” he says with a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same,” Alex says, smiling back. “Um, how would you feel about a shower?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And just like that, he’s seeing a much younger Alex, in the motel shower in La Jolla. Seeing Noah’s smug face as he watches them together. Shit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex must notice the shift, because he sits up quickly, pulling the sheet with him, making sure to keep himself covered. “Michael?” he asks, concerned.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Think... think maybe we’re gonna have to talk some more,” Michael says wearily.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael opens up to Alex about some of his past experiences.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings in this chapter for brief discussions of past sex work, refugee status, past mind manipulation and Past non consensual voyeurism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s sitting outside in comfortable, clean clothes, hair still damp from the shower.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is good,” he says as he sips the coffee that Alex made.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad,” Alex replies. “I’m definitely not the best at, like, cooking, but coffee I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael gazes out over the tiled roofs at the long line of ocean visible in the distance. “I feel a little bad that we haven’t gone out much. I mean, this is Embria, and we’ve mostly just been here in the house.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex stares down at his coffee mug. “Would it surprise you if I told you that I didn’t actually come here for the beaches?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks at him, and Alex shrugs. “I’d have vacationed on Mitrocon if it meant I’d be seeing you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael raises an eyebrow. “Can humans even breathe on Mitrocon?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex smiles. “With the right gear they can.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, have you - ?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex shrugs, letting his nonanswer speak the truth. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s crazy,” Michael says, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks to the horizon. “I’ve done a lot of crazy things.” His expression turns thoughtful. “Um, about earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Here it is. Michael sighs. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s gaze is soft as he looks at him. “It felt really, really good being with you earlier. I... I’ve been thinking about something like that for a long time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” Michael says quietly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hope we can keep doing things like that, if we want to,” he hastily adds. “If we both want to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael slumps a little in his chair. “I <em>want</em> to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex seems to relax a bit at that. “Good, Michael. That... that’s good. Um, before we do, though, thought maybe we could sort of talk over some things. We’ve... we’ve both been through some shit over these last ten years. Things that wouldn’t have even fazed us before, maybe rub us the wrong way now, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael fixes him with a level gaze. “Like taking a shower together,” he says flatly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Alex says, not unkindly. “Stuff like that.” His mouth twists a bit. “I’m sure there are things we’ve experienced that will probably never come up between us, you know? That’s not necessarily what I’m worried about at this point. No, it’s more the stuff like the shower, normal things that just have, I dunno, bad associations.” Alex swallows. “Um, I don’t want to be restrained. Even just, like, held down too tightly. Maybe, ah, maybe someday. But right now? Even with you?” He shakes his head. “Don’t want that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael wants to ask more about it, wants to know why. Is of course totally accepting of it. But realizes that he doesn’t want to have to explain the gory details of every aversion he has, and Alex probably doesn’t want to have to do that either. “Got it,” he says, matter of fact. “For me... again, right now, at least, the biggest one is no mind stuff. Like, haven’t even been able to do that with Hik yet, in therapy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex laughs, a little tense. “Well, given that I’m a human, you don’t have to worry about that with me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not exactly true,” Michael says thoughtfully. “Practically speaking, it means I don’t want to open a handprint connection any time soon.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, of course not. I mean, Michael, we <em>never</em> have to do that if you don’t want to. I’d never, like, expect that. Or push for it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pressure in Michael’s chest lessens a little. “I... that’s good. It’s something that I know came up back on the ship. You shut it down back then. Um, for obvious reasons, I guess, seeing as you were pumped full of anti-Antarian pollen. But I didn’t know if that’s something you’d actually want.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not if you don’t,” Alex says simply.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And for a moment it’s so... foreign to Michael. That Alex wouldn’t want to do something just because Michael didn’t. Michael’s used to quite the opposite, actually, to people pushing him to do things they want, regardless of Michael’s preferences.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael makes a decision, fixes Alex with a look. “Noah would get in my mind. Not often, but... often enough.” He narrows his eyes a little. “You were at the trial, so you know. You heard.” Michael purses his lips. “I didn’t know. At the time. While it was happening. That’s part of it, you know? He could make it so you didn’t know he’d been in your head.” Michael shook his head. “I’d have these really vivid dreams sometimes. About things I had to do on Sector 8. Never, never good stuff, you know? I wonder now, if that was actually him, whether directly or a side effect of it, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael shakes his head, as if to clear it. “Anyway, reason I’m bringing this up is that when we were on the ship, in the hold? When you were implanting the chip in his arm, but he came to and you had to head butt him?” Michael cocks his head a bit. “Which was pretty badass, by the way, even if all the blood on your face scared the fuck out of me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex bites his lip a little.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Well. That’s when he got in my head. For the last time, thank fuck, but he made it count. He let me know he was there. And, and he made me show him. Us. Together.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Together?” Alex asks slowly, an edge of dread in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael drops his gaze, down to the floor of the porch. “Yeah. Together, Alex.” He sighs wearily. “La Jolla.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Alex mutters, then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, is that why, when I mentioned the shower - ?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry, Michael, I had no idea,” Alex is saying, grasping for his hand and shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, only one who should be sorry is Noah. Seriously. No way you could have known. And maybe... maybe someday we’ll get there. But right now...” He trails off. “He clapped. Fucking clapped after he made me show him everything. Hate that he got to see us like that. See <em>you</em> like that. Hate that he fucked up that memory for me, when it was one of the best ones I had.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex is quiet for a long time. “I wanted to kill him,” he says quietly. “On the ship. I could have. It, it would have been fucking easy, actually.” He looks right at Michael, an almost frighteningly sharp expression on his face. “Sometimes still wish I’d done it, after all that he did.” He swallows. “At least he’s locked up. He, he’ll die in there, and maybe someday I’ll be okay with that. But god, I hate him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael squeezes Alex’s hand again. “Hey. You stopped him. Got me out. And Iz, and Max, and you took Enos and his associates down.” Michael clears his throat. “But most importantly? There’s no more market on Quelnin. No more cages. You and your team, you helped get them out, Alex. Not just out, but, like, real help. Real help from the Federation. Counseling and medical care and job training and, and a fucking roof over their heads.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael’s shaking his head, feels the hot sting of tears in his eyes. “And, and you got them back with their own people, when the Federation could swing it. Which is just, just...” Overwhelmed, he swipes at his eyes with the back of his free wrist. “If I’d had something like that, back on Earth? Me and Iz and Max? If we’d had even <em>one</em> fuckin’ Antarian we could have talked to, learned from, well...” Michael sniffs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we would have known what was normal and what wasn’t. Maybe, maybe they could have helped us find a community, helped us learn about ourselves.” He’s not looking at Alex when he says the next part, <em>can’t</em> look. “Maybe I wouldn’t have felt like I had to sign myself away on Sector 8, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You kept them <em>alive</em>,” Alex says, almost fiercely. “You did what you did to keep Max and Iz alive.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael looks out at the water. “I did,” he says slowly. They’re quiet for a while, just sitting together, resting their hands together in the space between them. <br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I, I’m part of this virtual meetup, now,” Michael finally says. “Of Antarians. All refugees, like we were. It’s... it’s nice.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s eyebrows are raised, just a little. “Michael, that’s... that’s great. I didn’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No one else knows. Not even Max and Iz. But, but you know what made me look into it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex looks surprised. “Me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michael smiles at him. It’s small but genuine. “That flower you sent me. When I moved here, to this place.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Vishnaryn lily,” Alex murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Michael says. “For times of transition. The fact that you... you thought to ask an Antarian about it. It connected me to something bigger, Alex. I’ve felt so alone for so much of my life. Literally unwanted - that’s why we were on Earth in the first place, we were so unwanted that the Federation had to pay Earthto take us. And on Earth, the only message we got was how to blend in. Assimilate. How to be, be the least Antarian as possible.” He shakes his head. “But that flower... fuck. Made me think. Think that maybe it was time to learn more. On my terms.” He bites his lip a little. “So thank you. I feel like I’m more myself than I’ve ever been.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alex’s grip on his hand is so tight, and he’s beaming. “I’m so glad, Michael. I’m so glad.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Come say hello on tumblr (aewriting).</p><p>Title and chapters are taken from “Vague Space,” by Stephen Malkmus.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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